


Malfoy Meets Muggle

by PenNoire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenNoire/pseuds/PenNoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is surprisingly happy in a comfortable relationship with Harry Potter. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't brought up doing things the wizarding way, and if Draco wants to make this work, he's going to have to learn to integrate the magical with the muggle. Really, how bad can it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proposal

**Chapter 1. Proposal**

Draco knows he’s wearing his ‘shit-eating grin’, as Harry calls it, the one that usually sends lesser beings running for cover, but he can’t bring himself to care. Why shouldn’t he be happy? He’s just joined one of the country’s most exclusive clubs, one with less than a dozen living members, and more than that it is his skill alone that has got him here. No one can accuse him of buying his way in this time, he thinks smugly. He wonders how he should inform everyone of his brilliance. Letters? Over drinks? Take out a full page spread in the Prophet?

He’s still considering the matter when he steps out of the lift and into the waiting room, and he quickly realises he’s forgotten to clear his expression. The receptionist gulps and cowers behind her desk, and a squat wizard sat in the far corner pales and shrinks down in his seat. The other occupant of the room, though, shoots to his feet, his smile matching Draco’s.

“All done?” Harry asks, and Draco proudly holds up his official scroll. Harry whoops and grabs Draco round the middle, apparently forgetting they’re in public. Draco clears his throat and pulls away slightly; their relationship has been public knowledge for over six months, but he’s still not as comfortable with public displays of affection as Harry. Harry rolls his eyes and settles for kissing Draco’s cheek. Draco flushes as he smoothes the creases from the front of his robes.

“So, where would you like to go for lunch?” he asks, before mentally kicking himself. Damn Harry for getting him all flustered! Even after almost a year, Draco still hasn’t been converted to Harry’s favourite ‘pub grub’, and endures it only when he really has to (or whenever Harry cheats and uses The Puppy Dog Eyes on him).

Harry, though, surprises him. “Hey, this is your big day – you choose.”

 _Oh, thank Merlin,_ Draco thinks. “Chez Christophe,” he says instantly, then frowns when Harry pulls a face, “What? You like it there!”

“The food’s great,” Harry concedes, “But you know I feel stupid when I don’t understand the menu.”

Draco sighs, used to Harry’s insecurities by now, and squeezes his hand. “That’s what I’m here for. Draco Malfoy, translator extraordinaire. You know I like to feel useful.”

That’s a lie; Draco likes nothing more than to relax and be taken care of. The only exemption is when he’s around Harry. He still can’t believe his luck – that someone like Harry would want someone like him – and he’s determined to spoil and take care of the other man to the best of his abilities. Harry shoots Draco an indulgent smile and links his elbow.

“Okay, then. Chez Christophe it is. Just make sure they don’t bring me anything disgusting, yeah?”

* * *

“This is really good,” Harry mumbles around a mouthful of chicken ballotine stuffed with escargots. Draco hides a smile. Harry doesn’t know he’s eating snails, but in all honesty, he never would have chosen this if Draco had told him exactly what the chicken was stuffed with, and Draco only has Harry’s best interests in mind. Snails are, after all, surprisingly nutritious, and broadening Harry’s rather limited culinary horizons can only be a good thing.

After the main course, the pair of them share a crème brulee. Harry moans in delight as he sucks each mouthful slowly off the spoon. It’s practically sinful, and Draco hides a groan of his own at the sight.

“What do you think?” Harry asks, gesturing at the dessert.

“I think we should move in together,” Draco says.

It isn’t until Harry drops his spoon that Draco realises what he’s said and he’s instantly horrified. Not at the idea, of course – he’s actually been considering asking Harry for a couple of weeks now – but at the blunt and completely bungling manner in which he’s raised the matter. He should have sounded Harry out first, dropping hints to try and gauge what his reaction would be. Harry’s completely oblivious about these things; he wouldn’t have known what Draco was doing. Instead, Draco’s asked him with no preparation, no thought-out plan as to how it would work, in the middle of a public restaurant no less! He opens his mouth to apologise but no sound comes out, making him look a little like a dying fish. He snatches up his linen napkin and covers his face whilst Harry flushes magenta.

“I think we’d better order coffee, don’t you?” he asks quietly. Draco, knowing Harry isn’t going to let the matter drop now it’s been raised, signals the waiter over and orders two coffees. The waiter shoots Draco an annoyed glance – he’s asked in English instead of French – but scurries off to get their order. In the time it takes for them to arrive, there is complete silence, both men not knowing exactly what to say or how to say it. Eventually Harry clears his throat, tips an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee and stirs it nervously.

“Did you mean it?” he asks.

“Of course!” Draco says, affronted, “When do I ever say things I don’t mean?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “All the time. You say you hate shopping, but you’re always very eager to accompany Pansy on her weekend trips to Paris...”

“How do you know about those?”

“It doesn’t matter. You tell me you love the curries from the takeaway round the corner because you know they’re my favourite, but you pull faces and vanish them when you think I’m not looking. You tell me you’ve seen homeless beggars dressed better than me, that my glasses went out of fashion fifty years ago and that my hair is an embarrassment, but you’re still happy to be seen with me.” His amused smile drops slightly. “At least, I hope you don’t mean it when you say all that stuff...”

“Of course I don’t,” Draco says, taking Harry’s hand, “I say that because, well, I don’t really know what else to say. You know I have problems expressing myself when it comes to...”

“Emotional stuff,” Harry finishes quietly, “Which is why I’m so shocked that you just blurted that out. I’d have expected a subtle interrogation for months before you brought it up.”

Draco frowns; it seems Harry knows him better than Draco thinks he does. “It _was_ a little unsubtle, wasn’t it?”

“Unsubtle? Draco, a rampaging hippogriff could have come charging through this restaurant with more subtlety than that!”

Draco bites his lip and looks away. “But I do mean it.”

Harry sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know you do, you prat. But it’s not a simple yes or no, is it?”

Draco frowns, confused. “It’s not?”

“Think about it. What can you tell me about the flat I’m in now?”

“It’s tiny – I think my ensuite bathroom’s bigger. But it doesn’t matter. We’d need somewhere larger; we could easily afford it...”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry interjects, “Draco, my flat is full of muggle stuff. I grew up in a muggle household, and I’m just used to doing a lot of things the muggle way. I won’t have a house elf – I promised myself when Kreacher died that I would never get another – and I don’t want one of yours from the manor. If we move in together it will be just me and you...”

“You and I,” Draco corrects under his breath.

“Whatever. It will be just _you and I_ , and I won’t... I can’t... Damn it, I don’t know how to say it right...”

“I’ll have to learn to put up with muggle things?” Draco suggests.

Harry sighs. “Exactly, and I know learning about muggle things isn’t exactly on your bucket list...”

“Why would I want a list of buckets?”

“No, it means... Never mind. I just know it’s not the way you want to live, that’s all.”

Draco sighs and picks at the table cloth absently. Harry is right; Draco has never seen the attraction of all the muggle things Harry uses in his flat, not when a house elf is perfectly capable of doing the same thing in less than half the time. Still, he knows they’re important to Harry, and he supposes the only thing he has to consider now is whether having Harry all to himself is worth it. He’s fed up with the way things are now; there isn’t room to swing a kneazle in Harry’s flat, and Draco’s parents have a nasty habit of disturbing them in the manor, no matter which of the forty-six rooms they’re hiding in. Draco glances across the table at Harry. Harry, his boyfriend, who has already risked and given up so much to be with Draco. What he has done to deserve Harry, Draco doesn’t know, but one thing he is suddenly certain of is that he would be a fool to even consider letting Harry go over something as trivial as a handful of muggle items.

“I love you, Harry,” he says, “You’ve already adapted for me; you come to my balls and charity events even though you hate them, you learned enough pureblood etiquette to appease my father, and you put up with the aftermath of my stupid dreams...”

“I get nightmares too,” Harry says softly.

“Shush. I’m speaking. The point I’m trying to make is that I’ll try my best. I might never be comfortable with them, just like I don’t think you’ll ever be comfortable at my charity galas, but if muggle things are as important to you as the galas are to me, then I’ll try.”

Harry smiles the smile that does funny things to Draco’s insides. “For someone who doesn’t do emotions very well, that was pretty damn emotional.”

Draco sniffs. “Yes, well, it won’t happen very often, so I suggest you commit it to memory as best you can.”

Harry laughs. “I sure will. So, shall I book us an appointment with an estate agent?”

“Estate agent?”

“Muggle people in charge of selling and renting out houses. We can’t get a place in a wizarding district.”

Draco’s stomach gives a nervous flip. “Why not?”

Harry gives him a funny look. “We need to be connected to the electricity grid or nothing of mine will work.”

Draco sighs, nods and asks for the bill. Deep breaths, he tells himself. It’s only muggle things. Muggles are primitive and stupid and nothing they could ever come up with can faze him. He will be absolutely fine. Besides, he can’t wait to see the look on his father’s face when Draco tells him he’s going to be leaning about muggle gadgets. That thought alone is enough to put the smile back on his face, and as he takes Harry’s hand and they stroll out into a sunny afternoon, Draco doesn’t think that life could get much better than this.


	2. Kettle

**Chapter 2. Kettle**

“We’ll start off small,” Harry announces, depositing a box on the kitchen counter.

Draco gulps, signs the form with a flourish and sets down his quill. He can’t help but think that they should perhaps be starting off with something bigger; the spacious kitchen looks extremely bare and empty, as does the rest of their new flat. Draco shudders when he thinks about the fact that he’d wanted to go even larger than the three bedroom one they’ve chosen. Having grown up in the manor he’s used to having plenty of space, but when he actually packed up the things he either wanted or needed, there was an astonishingly small amount. He’s commandeered the smallest bedroom as an office (well, it will be when he gets furniture for it), and as he could have predicted ninety percent of the wardrobe space is taken up by his clothes, but other than that he hasn’t brought much. He is making a list, though, of things to buy. A new sofa is the top priority – Harry’s is the most uncomfortable thing Draco’s ever had the misfortune to sit on.

He spells the ink off his fingers and stands up to inspect the box, but he can’t see anything special about it. “What does it do?” he asks.

Harry opens the flaps at the top. “It’s called a kettle. It boils water.”

He pulls out an odd contraption with a long lead at the bottom and a spout at the top. Draco berates himself silently for thinking Harry had been showing him a box. These are muggles, after all, and a box is a box. He decides not to mention his gaffe to Harry.

He watches Harry push the end of the lead into the three holes in the wall. “It runs of eceltriticy?” he asks, proud of himself for remembering Harry’s explanation of how muggles got things to work without magic.

“Electricity,” Harry corrects him fondly, “And yes, it does. The electricity heats up a wire inside, and that heats the water.”

Draco frowns and prods it with a finger. It’s made of a white material he thinks he recalls being called plastic, and there is a thin window up one side. He peers in, but can’t see anything. He sees Harry watching him out of the corner of his eye and he pulls back, confused.

“Why do we need it?”

“I told you – it boils water.”

“But we have cauldrons to do that.”

Harry has the audacity to look amused at Draco’s confusion. “You boil a full cauldron of water just to make a cup of tea?”

“I drink coffee, not tea,” Draco mutters, “And I wouldn’t know. The house elves made my drinks.”

Harry smiles. “Well, this is how muggles do it, and how we’re going to do it from now on. The first thing to do is fill it with water.” He points to the window in the kettle. “This is how you tell how much water you’ve put in. Don’t fill it above this line at the top.” He grips the handle, and suddenly the kettle comes apart in his hands. Draco yelps.

“You broke it!”

Harry laughs and squeezes Draco’s forearm. “It’s supposed to do that. It’s so it’s easier to take it to the sink to fill it.”

Draco bites his lip as Harry does just that. It seems counterintuitive to him, to make something that’s designed to be broken in half. He reminds himself that this is, after all, a muggle invention. He really should learn not to set his expectations too high.

Harry puts the top bit back on the bottom, then looks at Draco expectantly. “Okay, so if this runs off electricity what’s the first thing we have to do?”

Draco panics, wondering how this demonstration had turned into a test. He knows that he mustn’t put anything, especially his fingers, into the holes in the wall, and that if all the lights go off he has to go to the box next to the front door and flip the big switch... Wait...

“Press the switch at the wall?” he suggests, then sighs in relief at Harry’s smile. Harry gestures for him to go ahead, and Draco pushes on the little white thing until he can see the red bit. He looks at the kettle expectantly, but it doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Harry reaches out and points to a small lever on the side.

“Okay, so now we’ve got electricity coming from the mains up the wire. Now we need to push this down to turn on the kettle.”

Draco does so before flinching back. “There’s a light!” he exclaims in surprise, pointing at the window in the kettle.

Harry laughs. “It’s so you know it’s on.”

“Of course I know it’s on; I just pushed the lever down,” Draco argues, “So, is the water boiled yet?”

“It takes a few minutes,” Harry tells him, “You’ll know because you can see it bubbling, then the light goes off when it’s done.”

As the kettle starts to hiss, Draco is grudgingly impressed. This device is heating up the water with no fire and no magic. Perhaps muggles aren’t as stupid as he previously thought.

In a few minutes, he can see the water bubbling through the window and then, with a click, the lever flicks back up and the light goes off. “Done,” Harry announces as he lifts the top half of the kettle off and pours them both cups of coffee.

“That didn’t seem too hard,” Draco observes as he adds milk one drop at a time to the coffee, trying to get it to exactly the same colour as the ones the house elves used to make him.

Harry smiles. “No, it’s not. It’s quicker than heating up water in a pan, as well. So, do you think you can cope with this? I’m not going to come home one day and find it vanished or blasted to smithereens?”

Draco laughs. “I’ll cope.”

* * *

Draco loves the kettle. Well, he loves being able to make himself a hot drink whenever he wants without having to listen to the house elves warning him about drinking too much caffeine. He finds out from watching Harry cook in the evenings that the boiling water isn’t just for making drinks, either. Harry doesn’t trust Draco with the gas hob just yet, so he buys Draco a long, cylindrical tube to cook spaghetti in. He tells Draco that all he has to do is put some spaghetti in the tube, fill it with boiling water and wait until it’s cooked. Draco hasn’t had the chance to have a go yet (and there’s no way he’ll admit to Harry that he _wants_ to have a go), but he supposes he will do eventually.

“That sounds a little dangerous, darling,” his mother says nervously as the kettle hisses. Draco turns away to hide his smile. His parents are visiting for the first time since he and Harry moved in together, and Lucius and Narcissa are doing their best to pretend they’re not completely horrified. When Draco announced he was going to make them tea, he thought his mother might faint. She’s now sat at the kitchen table fanning herself with her hand, and his father is sitting so straight he could have a ten inch wand rammed up his backside.

“It’s just getting to the boil,” he says cheerfully, and when it’s done, he takes the top half of the kettle off with a flourish and pours the hot water on top of the cheap tea bags (why bother getting expensive ones when neither he nor Harry drink tea?) sat in Harry’s cartoon character mugs. His mother looks like she’s concerned for his sanity. His father looks as if he might have an apoplectic fit at any second. Draco smiles and pats the top of the kettle affectionately. If the next muggle gadget is as fantastic as this one, there might be hope for them yet.

 


	3. Toaster

**Chapter 3. Toaster**

“What in Merlin’s name is that?” Draco asks as Harry proudly displays the next muggle item Draco gets to meet.

“It’s a toaster,” Harry announces, “Can you guess what it’s for?”

Draco shoots him a scathing look. “I may be inexperienced when it comes to muggles, Harry, but I’m not a complete imbecile. I surmise from the name that it is a contraption for making toast.”

Harry has the decency to look slightly shamefaced. “I’m sorry. It’s just that after I’ve been drowning in your upper crust circle for so long, it feels good to have the upper hand for once.”

Draco’s still scowling, but then Harry gives him The Puppy Dog Eyes, the ones he knows Draco can’t resist, and Draco’s insides melt. Harry just looks so adorable, his head tilted slightly downwards and his large, round green eyes peering up imploringly at Draco. Draco sighs and pulls his boyfriend into his arms, nuzzling Harry’s thick, dark hair with his nose before gently nipping the shell of his ear.

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Love you too,” Harry replies, before softly slapping Draco’s side, “Now, toaster. Pay attention.”

Draco pulls back, watching with interest as Harry plugs the thing into the wall. “If it’s for making toast, why are there frogs on it?” he asks.

“Because when I bought it, it was either a frog pattern or plain white. Now stop going off topic,” Harry admonishes, “I figured this would be useful for you to know how to use in case I’m ever going to be late at work. You can put anything on toast and it’s a meal, after all. So, like the kettle there are metal wires that get hot to toast the bread. Unlike the kettle, you can get to them with your fingers. Be really careful not to touch them; use this lever at the side to push the bread up and down, and turn this knob to change the time.”

He takes four slices of bread out of the bread bin and pops them into the toaster, pushing the lever down to turn it on. Draco’s eyes widen as he sees the wires inside go red.

“They’re glowing!” he announces rather unnecessarily.

Harry chuckles. “That’s because they’re hot. It’s the same as in a light bulb, except that’s hot enough to glow white.”

“Really?” Draco asks, amazed, as he turns and squints up at the light source in the kitchen. He hasn’t really given much thought as to how they work; all Harry’s shown him up to now is that they come on and off using the switches on the walls. It’s a far cry from the torches, candles and lanterns he’s used to and, if he dares to admit it, rather clever.

The next moment, he nearly has a heart attack as the toast jumps out of the top of the toaster. “Merlin's hairy bollocks!”

Harry keels over laughing. “Bloody hell, Draco, the look on your face! It just ejected the toast because it’s done, that’s all. See?”

Harry grabs one of the slices and holds it out for inspection. It’s a little bit too well done for Draco’s liking, plus it nearly killed him. He takes it from Harry’s hand a tears it into little pieces.

* * *

It is a few days later when Draco, who’s working at the kitchen table (it’s still early but he tires of the office mid-afternoon, and what’s the point of being the boss if he can’t choose where he wants to work?), nearly gets hit in the head by the Ministry owl. Swearing, he manhandles the thing onto the chair next to him and grabs the piece of parchment tied to its leg. Harry’s rushed, spiky scrawl is instantly recognisable.

_Caught up in a case at work, will be home about eight. You eat, I’ll grab fish and chips on my way home. H xxx_

Draco sighs in disappointment. Eating with Harry is his favourite time of the day; in the mornings they’re both panicking about getting to work on time and accidentally wearing each other’s underwear, then by the time dinner’s over they’re too tired to do much more than collapse on the sofa and nap until it’s time to go to bed. Over dinner is when they talk, and every day Draco learns something new about Harry. He doesn’t ever want to stop learning.

He’s about to write a reply when he’s struck by a sudden inspiration. Harry always makes dinner for the pair of them; if he’s going to be late home, isn’t this the perfect time for Draco to demonstrate that he’s taken on Harry’s lessons about the muggle appliances and cook dinner? He nods resolutely and grabs a spare piece of parchment.

_Forget fish and chips, I’ll cook. Love you, D xxx_

He ties the parchment to the owl’s leg, frowning when it glares at him. “No, I’m not going to feed you. Harry’s the nice one in this relationship, he’ll do that. Now scat.”

The owl hoots indignantly and flies off, and then Draco realises that he’s got no idea what to cook. He can make spaghetti with some boiling water and his spaghetti-cooker-tube-thing, or toast with the toaster. He puts off the decision for the time being – it’s only just gone five – and turns back to his work. When he next checks the time its quarter to eight, fifteen minutes before Harry’s due home, and panic sets in.

He swears, stacks his papers and quickly dumps them out of the way in the living room. Toast or spaghetti, toast or spaghetti... Biting his lip, he grabs four slices of frozen bread from the freezer – they ran out of fresh yesterday, and given that Draco still can’t fathom out muggle money, he doesn’t fancy his chances of being able to buy a fresh loaf – and sticks it in the toaster. This, he tells himself, will be the best toast Harry’s ever tasted. After this, any other toast will seem inferior.

He glares impatiently at the toaster, willing it to work faster. When the bread eventually jumps out of the top, Draco groans in despair. For some reason, the bread is hardly toasted at all; it’s not even lightly golden, for Merlin’s sake! Frustrated, he twists the knob to increase the time, pushes the lever back down and, as a contingency plan, sets the kettle going. If the toaster’s broken, he’ll just have to serve Harry spaghetti instead.

He pulls the spaghetti out of the cupboard, but it’s not like any spaghetti he’s ever seen before. It’s a packet of long, thin, completely rigid sticks, but the label definitely says its spaghetti. Giving it the benefit of the doubt, he transfers two fistfuls to the spaghetti-cooker and adds boiling water from the kettle. He sets that down on the kitchen top, then wheels round when he hears the toaster go off.

“Shit!” he yells, rushing forward. All four slices are completely black. “Damn, shit, fuck,” he mumbles as he fishes them out of the toaster and onto a plate. He stands back for a moment and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. How does Harry make this cooking business look so _easy_? He’s due home any minute, and there’s only one slice of frozen bread left. Grimacing, Draco takes a knife and scrapes as much of the black stuff into the bin as he can.

“Draco?”

“Bloody Merlin!” Draco swears when he hears Harry calling out from the living room, wondering how he could have missed the sound of the apparition. As quickly as he can he puts two slices of toast onto each of two plates, drains the water off the spaghetti (which, he is relieved to see, is now softer and altogether more spaghetti-like) then dumps it on top the toast. He’s just setting the plates on the table when Harry walks into the kitchen.

“Draco, I smell burning. Is everything alright?”

Draco plasters on a smile as he sits down. “Brilliant. Now, come and get your dinner before it goes cold.”

Harry squints at the plates sat on the table. “Er, what is it?”

“Spaghetti on toast,” Draco announces, as if this is what he’s planned all along.

“Spaghetti on toast?” Harry asks doubtfully.

Draco nods, crossing his fingers behind his back. “You told me you can put anything on toast.”

“So I did,” Harry acquiesces, sitting down opposite Draco and picking up his knife and fork. Draco does the same, twirls some spaghetti deftly around his fork, cuts the corner off his slice of toast and puts the whole lot into his mouth.

It’s possibly the most disgusting thing he’s ever tasted. The spaghetti is far too al dente, almost inedible, and so dry without any type of sauce. The toast only makes it worse, and the acrid taste of the burned bits he hasn’t managed to scrape off is ghastly. Still, determined to put on a brave face, he swallows and takes a sip of water, scooping a second mouthful onto his fork. Just as he’s about to eat it he notices Harry, who’s chewing his first mouthful and looking distinctly green.

“Are you alright?” Draco asks.

Harry swallows and gives him a weak smile. “Please don’t be offended, Draco. I appreciate the effort, I really do, but would you mind if I go and get fish and chips?”

Draco sighs in relief and vanishes the meal. “Thank Merlin. Please do.”


	4. Alarm Clock

**Chapter 4. Alarm Clock**

“That’s new,” Draco comments when he spies a new addition on Harry’s bedside table.

“It’s an alarm clock,” Harry says as he slips under the duvet, “It’s to wake me up in the morning.”

Draco pouts. “Don’t you like the way I wake you up in the morning?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he slips his hand under the covers, stroking his way down to Harry’s hip. Harry, predictably, flushes, as if he’s still embarrassed about this behaviour even after all the time they’ve been together. In truth, Draco’s a little upset that Harry’s decided to replace him with a muggle object. Draco likes waking Harry up in the morning; Harry makes the most delicious noises – groans, whimpers and mewls – that he always denies making later on, and he never makes them when he’s not half asleep. The only thing Draco likes more than waking Harry is the odd day now and again when Harry’s the first one to wake up.

“I love the way you wake me up in the morning,” Harry says, “But I think we might have to limit it to weekends. I think my superior’s finally noticed that I haven’t been at work on time once since we moved in together.”

Draco harrumphs. “You’re Harry Potter. It’s not like he’s going to fire you for being late!”

“Maybe not,” Harry argues, “But it doesn’t set a very good example to the members of my department, does it?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “You’re just too conscientious for your own good.”

Harry raises an eyebrow and slides his own hand down to stroke Draco’s hip teasingly. “And are you complaining about that when it comes to this?”

“Merlin no,” Draco groans.

“Good,” Harry announces, removing his hand and rolling away from Draco’s, “Now, I’ve got an early start tomorrow so I’m afraid it’s lights out now.”

“What?” Draco exclaims incredulously.

Harry removes his glasses and places them next to the clock. “Early start, so lights off now. Do you need it repeating again?” Draco gives him The Death Glare, but Harry’s long been immune to it; he just smiles, and leans over to whisper in Draco’s ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”

He kisses Draco’ cheek, then rolls over and flops onto the pillow. Draco sighs, but knows from experience that there’s no point pushing Harry if he doesn’t want to. Draco flicks the switch on the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, and snuggles up against Harry’s warm back. He can’t wait until tomorrow.

* * *

Draco’s flying. That’s not unusual, but the fact that he’s on a hippogriff is. Draco hates the beasts, but at the minute he can’t bring himself to care. The hippogriff is black, and when it banks round, Draco can see it’s wearing Harry’s glasses. He wonders if it _is_ Harry, then decides it doesn’t make a difference. They’re flying around the Hogwarts quidditch pitch in front of packed stands, although he can’t make out any faces. Something whizzes by his head and he somehow turns the hippogriff away. He looks back over his shoulder, expecting to see a bludger, but instead sees a toaster decorated with cartoon frogs zooming off into the distance.

Suddenly, he spies a hint of gold in the corner of his eye. Wheeling the hippogriff round, Draco shoots off after the small, round ball. He expertly dodges the other players (who are just on normal broomsticks; apparently he’s the only one important enough to merit a hippogriff) and before long the snitch is right ahead of him, and he’s gaining on it. He reaches out a hand, noticing at the last minute that it’s not a snitch after all, but a real life golden snidget. The bird abruptly wheels around so it’s facing Draco, opens its mouth, and says...

“BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!”

“Waa!” Draco yells as he throws himself backwards, away from the snidget, only to find himself falling off the hippogriff and landing with a thump on his bedroom floor. Heart racing and panting heavily, he snatches his wand off his bedside table and cautiously peeks over the top of the bed. Harry, who seems to be unconcerned by the noise, stretches leisurely before touching something on the top of his alarm clock. The noise instantly stops. As soon as he realises it’s safe, Draco explodes.

“What in Salazar’s name was that?” he shrieks.

Harry winces at the noise and rubs his ear. “What?” he mumbles sleepily.

“That!” Draco yells, pointing at the clock with his wand, “That... that _thing_!”

“The alarm clock?” Harry asks, reaching out for his glasses, “I told you it would wake us up in the morning...”

“You said it would wake _you_ up, not me!” Draco shouts, ignoring the bangs from the neighbours on the bedroom wall, “And you could have warned me it was going to blare loudly enough to deafen me!”

Harry winces. “Sorry, I guess it was a bit loud. I’ll turn the volume down a bit for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Merlin, no. That thing is going in the bin right now.”

“What?”

“I mean it. In the bin, or out of the window. It’s your choice.”

Harry opens his mouth as if to argue, then snaps it shut and drops his head. Draco nods, thinking he’s won the argument, but then he sees Harry’s head rising oh so very slowly.

“Don’t you dare...” he begins, but then he’s getting the full force of The Puppy Dog Eyes and the words dry up in his throat. “Damn you,” he mutters.

Harry crawls forward and loops his arms around Draco’s waist, nuzzling his stomach. “I’m sorry, I really am. I’ll make sure it’s sorted for tomorrow.”

Draco sniffs at the apology and pets Harry’s hair gently. “I suppose it can stay,” he concedes, wondering when exactly he’s gotten so soft, “But how does it even work? It doesn’t plug in to the electricity!”

“It runs off batteries,” Harry says.

“What?”

“Batteries. They’re, well, disposable electricity sources. They’re mostly used to power small things, but you can get bigger ones to go in cars and other things that you don’t want to have to keep plugged in all the time. They’re...”

But what else they are, Draco doesn’t find out, because the damn alarm clock starts beeping again. Harry curses and scoots back along the bed to turn it off.

“Sorry, I must have hit snooze accidentally,” he says sheepishly.

Draco turns his nose up. “Apology not accepted,” he announces, “I think you’ll have to make it up to me in the shower.”

Harry grins lecherously. “I can do that.”

* * *

Forty minutes later, Harry is cramming a piece of toast into his mouth as he runs about trying to find a specific file while Draco sits at the kitchen table and leisurely drinks his cup of coffee. He supposes he can forgive the alarm clock; it was a _very_ good shower.

“I’ll see you later,” Harry pants, kissing Draco on the cheek and hurriedly apparating away. Draco takes another sip and laughs as he checks the time.

Even with the alarm clock, Harry’s still late.


	5. Vacuum Cleaner

**Chapter 5. Vacuum Cleaner**

The first time Harry powers up the vacuum cleaner, Draco screams, drops his book and shoots under the sofa. It’s a sound like nothing he’s ever heard before, an indescribable combination of a dragon’s roar, a banshee’s wail and Weasley’s favourite band making the noise they mistakenly claim is music. The next instant the din stops and is replaced by the sound of Harry’s bellowing laughter. Draco narrows his eyes in indignation. How dare Harry find amusement in Draco’s terror? Not terror, he corrects himself a moment later – he was merely surprised. Yes, surprised. Not terrified at all. Absolutely not.

Harry’s laughter eventually dies down to chuckles and he drops to his knees, tilting his head to look under the sofa. “Draco? You coming out?”

Draco turns his nose up and turns around. He thinks he deserves an apology, at the very least. How hard would it have been for Harry to warn him that he was about to switch on the noisiest thing Draco’s ever heard? Without warning he feels something touch his tail and he instinctively wheels around, lashing out at the thing with his claws.

“Ouch! Bloody hell, Draco!” Harry yelps as he withdraws his bloodied hand from under the sofa. Draco hisses to warn his boyfriend off trying it again. He has every right to be angry, thank you very much, and he’ll stay right here until he’s calmed down.

Harry, apparently, isn’t prepared to wait, and the base of the sofa brushes Draco’s back as Harry tries to push it out of the way. Draco glances disdainfully at Harry’s feet, and when the sofa has shifted by a foot, Draco crawls forward until he’s firmly in the middle again. Harry curses in frustration, then starts thinking like a wizard and levitates the sofa off Draco so that he’s exposed in the middle of the living room. Draco glares at him, but gives in and lets Harry pick him up.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” Harry asks softly, crossing the room and sitting on the sofa that is now pressed up against the wall. Draco meows in agreement and sits down so that his back is to Harry. Luckily, Harry gets the message and starts combing the fingers of one hand through Draco’s coat whilst scratching behind his ears with the other. It’s bliss, and Draco can’t help but purr. Before long he’s like a lump of melted putty splayed out in Harry’s lap, occasionally batting Harry’s hands with his paws when they’re not scratching him hard or fast enough.

“You’ve got bits of sofa fluff stuck in your fur,” Harry comments.

Draco transforms back and glares at Harry. “And whose fault is that, exactly?”

Harry chuckles. “I would say that seen as how it was you that ran under the sofa it’s your fault, but I’m going to hazard a guess and say that it will be mine.”

“Damn right it’s yours!” Draco grumbles, “So what exactly is that beast?”

“It’s a vacuum cleaner.”

Draco waits, but no more details are forthcoming. “Well, that’s helpful. What does it do, exactly?”

“It, well, I don’t know how it works exactly, but it sucks things.”

“Sucks things,” Draco repeats incredulously.

“Yeah, you know, like all the dirt and fluff and stray cat hairs that stick in the carpet. This thing sucks them all up and cleans the carpet.”

“Ingenious,” Draco deadpans, “But why do we need it? Can’t you just use a household charm to clean the carpet?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know any household charms to clean carpets. Do you?”

“Well, no...”

Harry smirks. “Hence the muggle cleaner.”

“But it’s so loud!” Draco whines.

Harry shakes his head in exasperation. “You know what? I think I prefer you as a Balinese; you can’t talk back!”

“You’re just jealous because you haven’t managed it yet!” Draco snaps, then instantly regrets it as Harry’s face falls. Draco curses himself. He hadn’t even considered becoming an animagus until he started dating Harry, and when he found out that Harry was trying, Draco thought it would be fun (and prestigious, of course) if he could manage it too. He was done and registered within a year; Harry, who’s been trying for five now, still hasn’t been able to transform, and it’s a sore subject with him. Draco shifts on the sofa, taking Harry’s scratched hand in his and gently kissing the back of it.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and Harry nods but doesn’t say anything. Draco sighs and squeezes Harry’s hand. “You’ll get it eventually,” he says, but Harry still doesn’t respond. He needs distracting, and Draco sucks in a fortifying breath. “So, are you going to show me how to work the carpet cleaner?”

“Vacuum cleaner,” Harry mumbles, still looking upset but allowing himself to be pulled up off the sofa and across the room. Draco glances warily at the vacuum cleaner as they approach it. It’s a big hunk of bright purple and green plastic more than half as tall as he is, and a lot more intimidating than the kettle or toaster.

“Okay,” Harry says as he positions Draco behind the vacuum cleaner, “It’s really easy. Grab this handle, then hit this lever with your foot.” Draco does so, and the top half of the cleaner reclines. “Good. So now, all you have to do is it press the on-off switch there with your foot and push it over the carpet. Simple.”

Bracing himself for the noise, Draco pushes the button and the cleaner comes to life with a roar. Draco winces and shudders but maintains his grip on the handle and starts to push the cleaner backwards and forwards over the carpet. It really is quite easy, and he can see the difference it’s making in the areas he’s already cleaned. The only problem arises when he gets to the corners of the room and can’t get the chunky head of the cleaner all the way in. Harry points to the on-off button and Draco pushes it, rubbing his ears as the noise fades away.

“Well done,” Harry says, and Draco almost has a fit when he realises that a Malfoy is being congratulated for his cleaning ability, “Right, to get in hard to reach spots we use this.” He unwinds a long, flexible tube from the back of the cleaner and sticks a rigid tube to the end. He passes it to Draco who stares at it cluelessly.

“And this helps how, exactly?” Draco asks.

“This attachment can get into the nooks and crannies and if you leave the vacuum stood up, the suction comes out of here instead. See?”

Harry presses the button with his foot and the thing in Draco’s hand comes violently to life. Draco shrieks and drops the tube but it attaches itself to his shirt and sucks it in.

“Harry!” Draco yells in a panic, “Harry, it’s trying to eat me!”

He pulls desperately at the tube but it won’t budge, holding fast to his expensive, elf-spun silk shirt and probably chewing it to pieces. Suddenly it lets go, and Draco realises that Harry, who’s once again in fits of laughter, has turned the damn thing off. Draco drops the tube faster than he would a poisonous snake and investigates the damage to his shirt.

“I’ll never get these wrinkles out!” he groans despairingly. Harry, the prat, is still laughing at him, and Draco glares at him. “I don’t know what you think is so funny. You owe me a new shirt!”

“Sorry,” Harry gasps, “I’ll get that to you as soon as Hermione pays me.”

Draco frowns. “I didn’t know Granger had borrowed money off you.”

Harry grins, letting Draco’s use of Hermione’s maiden name slide for once. “She hasn’t. Hermione hasn’t been able to get Ron to touch the vacuum cleaner since they moved in together almost ten years ago. When I had lunch with her and said I was going to use it this weekend, she bet me ten galleons that I wouldn’t be able to get you to touch it either.”

Draco wants to be affronted that Harry makes bets about him, but he supposes that would be a bit hypocritical given the number of times Draco has won money off his friends over Harry’s more than passable behaviour during the high class balls Draco likes to attend. Instead, he sniffs and slips his arms around Harry’s waist.

“Well, I suppose that just goes to show that I love you more than Weasley loves Granger.”

Harry smiles brilliantly and nuzzles Draco’s neck. “I suppose it does. Now, would you like me to pick all the bits of sofa fluff out of your fur?”

“Yes please,” Draco sighs, and as he lies contentedly on Harry’s lap several hours later, he considers what would be the best way to break the vacuum cleaner. After all, if the carpet’s too clean he won’t be able to get fluff in his fur, and he’s found out this afternoon that that is a very good thing indeed.


	6. TV

**Chapter 6. TV**

Draco and Harry order a celebratory Chinese takeaway on the one month anniversary of them moving in together. Draco would rather have gone out for a nice meal at Chez Christophe than order food in metal and cardboard pots, but Harry has put his foot down and said that if they are celebrating being in the flat for a month then they should eat in the flat. Draco relents, but only on the condition that he gets his own bag of prawn crackers. Harry always gets his fingers messy making up the pancakes then somehow manages to transfer sticky sauce to every single prawn cracker in the bag when he reaches in for one.

“How’s yours?” Harry asks, gesturing at Draco’s containers.

“Edible,” Draco admits grudgingly; it’s good, but he would still have preferred Christophe’s cooking.

Harry grins. “You prefer this to the curries, then?”

“Most definitely.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, then Harry clears his throat nervously. “Draco?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if I bought a TV?”

Draco raises his eyebrows. This is the first time Harry’s asked for permission to introduce a new muggle gadget and Draco wonders just how much he’s going to hate it, for that is the only reason he can think of for Harry being so nervous.

“What is it?” he asks warily.

“I had one at my old place, but I dropped it during the move and it broke. It’s... Oh hell, how do you describe a telly?” Harry groans, “It’s for entertainment. It’s like a wizarding photograph but with sound, and the people in them act out stories, or they read the news or play sports. We don’t _need_ one, which is why I thought I’d ask...”

“But you do _want_ one,” Draco finishes.

“Yes, but not if you’re going to resent me for it later.”

Draco sighs, puts down his takeaway container and scoots closer to Harry’s side. “Of course I won’t resent you for it. If you want one, get one. I may not like or appreciate it like you do, but I’m willing to try.”

Harry gives him a brilliant smile and hugs him tightly. “Thank you. I’ll get a Sky package; there’s got to be something on that you’ll like.”

Draco frowns. “Why would I want to watch muggles talking about the sky?”

* * *

The TV makes its appearance the next weekend. Draco returns from afternoon tea (well, coffee in his case) at his parents’ – he visits once a week, but only inflicts them on Harry once a month – to find Harry standing proudly next to a large black mirror which now stands in the corner of their living room.

“Ta-da!” Harry announces, “Draco, meet the telly. Telly, meet Draco.”

Draco is suddenly very nervous. “It’s sentient?” he whispers.

Harry laughs. “Not quite, but it is very clever. It’ll be even better when the Sky engineer comes out in a few weeks to install our dish. For now, we’ve just got the basic channels.”

Draco nods and tries to look as if he knows what Harry’s talking about. Harry isn’t fooled, and smiles at him indulgently.

“Okay, so we control the telly using this remote,” he says, holding up a long, slender brick.

Draco frowns at it. “Is that some sort of muggle wand?” he asks.

Harry grins as he pulls Draco over to the sofa and sits down, handing him the remote. “I suppose you could say that. So, the big button at the very top turns the telly on, then you use the different numbers to change channels. One and three are the best.”

Draco still doesn’t really understand, but Harry’s gesturing for him to push the buttons, so he gingerly presses the one at the top. The next instant he nearly drops the remote – the telly’s reacting! A little light at the bottom is flashing red, and then a few moments later the screen bursts into colour. Draco yells and throws up an arm to shield his eyes. He can feel Harry practically vibrating with excitement next to him.

“Isn’t it great?” Harry asks.

“Wonderful,” Draco says as he tentatively lowers his arm. As soon as he does, he finds himself absolutely captivated by what’s going on on the telly. The tiny people are moving about and touching each other, and it’s just so real that he’s absolutely flabbergasted. Harry grins at him.

“You ready for some sound now?” Harry asks.

“It makes noises as well?” Draco asks incredulously, and Harry reaches across and presses a button with ‘V+’ on it. The telly instantly produces sound, the voices matching the people on screen and the way their mouths are moving. Draco watches in astonished amazement.

“This is brilliant,” he murmurs, “How do they do it?”

Harry smiles and squeezes his hand. “It’s a bit like taking a photograph, but rather than recording a single time point it records hundreds or thousands of continuous ones. At the same time there’s something called a microphone which records the sound, and the sound is then added to the video.”

“That’s...” Draco begins, but he doesn’t have the words to describe how remarkable this is. Of all the muggle things Harry’s shown him so far, this is by far the best. Not only is it the cleverest, but it’s the only one that muggles have made just because they can. All the others have a practical purpose, but some muggles have invested the time and money into making these tellys just to provide entertainment.

Harry grins. “There’s more than one channel, as well.”

“There’s more?” Draco asks. Harry nods, leans over and presses the number two. The telly goes dark for a second and then lights up again, but this time there are different people on the screen and they’re talking about different things. Draco’s mouth drops open, and Harry reaches across and pushes it shut with a finger before pressing number three. Once again the picture changes, this time to show a person singing in front of four people sat behind a desk.

“What’s this?” Draco queries.

Harry laughs. “It’s ‘The X Factor’. It’s a show to try and find the best singer in the country.”

“Well, it’s definitely not this one,” Draco comments, wincing as the person on screen hits a hideously flat note, “Maybe the next one will be better.”

He gets comfy on the sofa, and Harry’s smiling as he goes to make dinner.

* * *

Draco absolutely loves the telly. He stops doing his work in the kitchen or the study and buys a lap tray so that he can work in the living room. He watches certain programmes religiously, although none more so than ‘The X Factor’. Every Saturday night he sits down with a tub of ice cream and watches people trying to sing, always adding his own comments to those of the judges. His employees have been doing really well lately so he hasn’t been able to deride them, and this is a good alternative.

“You do know they can’t hear you, don’t you?” Harry asks one evening.

Draco doesn’t care if they can or they can’t; he’s entitled to his own opinion, isn’t he? He tells himself that Harry’s just jealous because he’s tone deaf and can’t tell the good singers from the bad ones. They start making bets on who will go through and who won’t, which Draco always wins. He collects his rewards in the bedroom after the show has done, and Saturday nights get even better.

One Saturday afternoon, just after Draco returns from his parents, Harry announces that Granger and Weasley are coming over for the evening with their offspring. Draco is horrified.

“But ‘The X Factor’ is on!” he exclaims.

Harry rolls his eyes. “It won’t hurt you to miss one week.”

“Of course it will!” Draco snaps, “They’re going to the judges’ houses to choose the finalists! It’s the most important episode ever!”

“You’ll find out who the finalists are when they appear next week,” Harry argues, “Now go and get changed; they’ll be here soon. And don’t you dare go near that TV, or I’ll hide the remote and keep it from you for a week!”

As soon as Harry leaves the room Draco grabs the remote, transfigures it into a galleon and slips it into his pocket.

Weasley and Granger arrive an hour later than planned, their two blindingly ginger children instantly throwing themselves at their favourite Uncle Harry. They glance nervously at Draco; he’s not really a children person, and does his best to avoid them at all costs. As Harry pours them drinks Draco glances sullenly at the kitchen clock, realising that he’s missing ‘The X Factor’. He considers ignoring Harry and slipping away to watch it, but then something Rose says catches his attention.

“What’s that, mummy?”

She’s pointing at the toaster, and the Slytherin part of Draco’s mind (which is all of it, really) senses he may have just found some potentially important allies. After all, Harry can’t say no to his godchildren, can he? Draco strides across the room and lifts Rose up so she can see the toaster.

“It’s for making toast,” he announces, before setting her down and kneeling down in front of both her and Hugo. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that Weasley has his hand in his back pocket, and Granger is gripping his wrist firmly. “But that’s not very exciting. Uncle Harry and I have a brand new shiny muggle telly toy in the living room; would you like to come and see it?”

“Draco,” Harry warns, but his voice is drowned by the children’s shrieks of delight. Draco smirks at Harry as he lets the children pull him into the living room, and as soon as they let go of his hands he un-transfigures the remote and puts ITV on. He happily sits down next to the Weasley sprogs, who are staring at the screen in rapt fascination, and the three of them don’t move for the entire evening.

And that is how Draco becomes Uncle Draco, a fact that he is very smug about, and Rose and Hugo become his regular ‘The X Factor’ viewing partners. He has to share his ice cream, but the face Weasley pulls whenever his children tear their hands from his and throw themselves at Draco is most definitely worth it.


	7. Mobile Phone

**Chapter 7. Mobile Phone**

One night in October, Harry doesn’t come home. Draco doesn’t really notice until the national news comes on at six thirty; Harry officially finishes at six, but he’s commonly delayed by someone for about ten or fifteen minutes. Usually, though, if the impromptu meetings last longer than this, he tells them to piss off and come and see him the next day. Well, Draco doubts Harry would literally tell them to piss off, but that’s what he must be thinking.

Draco keeps the TV on, but his eyes constantly flick to the clock on the wall. The minute hand ticks by ridiculously slowly, but by seven there’s still no sign of Harry. Draco’s stomach gives a loud rumble and he hurriedly makes himself some toast – even after a few months, his culinary abilities haven’t improved much, although thankfully he can grate some cheese to put on top rather than spaghetti – before inking a quick note and sending it off with their owl. He paces the length of the living room until Thuban returns, the unread message still attached to his leg. Draco swears colourfully and tugs at his hair, but still Harry doesn’t materialise.

It’s now almost half past eight, and panic is starting to set in. He picks up his wand and attempts the Patronus charm; he’s never managed it before, but he knows the theory of producing one and getting it to relay a message, and the past few months living with Harry have given him more happy memories than he has from the rest of his lifetime.

“Expecto patronum,” he intones over and over again, but his hand shakes constantly and he can’t even produce the weak white mist he’s managed in the past. After a solid twenty minutes of trying the wand droops in his numb fingers and he does the only thing he can think of; he apparates to Granger and Weasley’s house. He arrives in the kitchen and Granger drops a plate when she sees him.

“Draco?”

“Harry’s missing,” Draco blurts out, and he doesn’t care that his voice is shaking, “He hasn’t come home, and I can’t contact him!”

Granger frowns and sets down her tea towel. “Missing? Have a seat and I’ll grab Ron; he might know if there’s something going on at work.”

Draco sits down, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the kitchen table until Weasley comes in. “Well?” Draco demands, “Do you know anything?”

Weasley scratches the back of his neck. “He went out to oversee a new team on a raid about mid afternoon. I’m surprised they haven’t done already, but we haven’t had an emergency backup alert so I doubt there’s anything wrong. It’s probably just taking them longer to get in than they anticipated.”

Draco sighs in relief, but he’s still furious. “And he couldn’t have written me a note warning me?”

Weasley looks sheepish. “Like I said, they might not have expected for it to take this long. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Granger pushes her way into the room behind him. “If you don’t want to go back to your flat, you’re welcome to stay here until Harry gets back.”

Weasley looks like the last thing he wants is Draco staying in his house, but Draco can’t face going to back to his and Harry’s flat alone with this uncertainty. “Yes, please,” he says softly, and allows Granger to set him up on the sofa with a blanket and a few spare pillows. As soon as she’s gone he pushes them aside and transforms – the worry isn’t as overpowering in this form. He curls up on the armchair, keeping his eyes on the living room door. He intends to stay up all night, but eventually his eyelids droop and he drifts into a troubled sleep.

* * *

He’s awoken by a sharp yank on his tail and he yowls, managing at the last second to stop himself from lashing out at Hugo, who’s looking at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t hurt Uncle Draco, sweetie,” Granger scolds him, looking in surprise at Draco. He realises that this is the first time he’s let anyone other than Harry or Pansy see his animagus form and he curls his tail protectively around himself. Weasley walks in carrying Rose and frowns in confusion when he sees Draco, before alarm registers on his face.

“He’s still not back?” he asks in concern, and when Draco shakes his head Weasley sets his daughter down and apparates straight away. Granger brings Draco a dish of water to drink before ushering the children away and leaving him in peace. He knows he should contact his secretary at the office and let her know he won’t be in, but he can’t make himself care. All he wants to do is see Harry.

An hour later, he gets his wish. The living room door inches open and a shamefaced Harry edges into the room. “Draco?” he says softly.

The first and overriding emotion Draco feels is heady relief. Harry looks absolutely exhausted and blood smears his left cheek, but he’s still Harry, and he’s still here and safe. Almost instantly the relief is overpowered by absolute fury. Harry’s an Auror, for Merlin’s sake! He can’t just disappear for more than twelve hours and not expect Draco to fear the worst. Harry sets down a plastic bag he’s carrying and takes half a step forward. “Draco? I’m really sorry...”

Draco flies off the chair and lands on two feet, fixing Harry with The Death Glare and poking him in the chest. “Not fucking good enough, Potter!” Draco snaps, feeling some sort of savage pleasure at Harry’s wince, “How dare you? How dare you vanish for the entire night without even a single word of warning! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t worry? Do you think I don’t care?”

“Of course I know you care...”

“Then why the fuck would you do this to me?” Draco yells, and he can feel moisture pooling in his eyes, “Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do,” Harry whimpers, and pulls Draco into a hug so tight he’s surprised his ribs aren’t broken. He buries his nose in Harry’s neck and sniffles.

“You’ve got a lot of grovelling to do, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry whispers as he kisses Draco’s forehead, “I know, and I’m starting off with this.”

He picks up the bag and guides Draco over to the sofa, pushing off the unused pillows and sitting down. He reaches into the bag and pulls out too identical boxes. Draco chokes back an incredulous laugh.

“You think you can make it up to me with something muggle?”

“It’s a way of staying in touch,” Harry says softly, pulling a small plastic item with number buttons on the front out of one of the boxes, “I didn’t know when we left it would take so long, which is why I didn’t write. When we got there, we found they’d put some strong magical detection spells over the place; if I’d have sent a patronus, I’d have alerted them that we were there. This is a mobile phone, a muggle way of contacting someone, and as far as I know this won’t be detectable by any sort of spells, so I should always be able to get a message to you.”

Draco sniffs and takes the phone. “Show me how to use it.”

Harry squeezes Draco’s hand. “You remember what I said about batteries? There’s one in here, and it needs to be charged with electricity from the mains before we can use the phone. Come home and we can set them charging before we go to bed.”

Draco wipes his nose and puts the phone back in the bag. “We’ll set them charging, but if you think you’re sleeping in my bed you’re very much mistaken.”

Harry nods sadly. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

“You’d better,” Draco says, and he lets Harry apparate them home.

* * *

Draco throws himself into learning how to use the mobile phone with even more enthusiasm than he had for the TV. Within twenty-four hours of switching it on for the first time Harry’s number is stored in the phone’s memory, Draco’s learned how to make a call and is getting the hang of texting. He insists they practice, and over the weekend they constantly send silly texts to each other (‘ _Draco, please can you fetch me a new loo roll? H xxx_ :-)’ ‘ _Summon it yourself, you lazy arse’_ ) and set up Harry’s phone so that it has a completely silent, non-vibrating mode which they name ‘Field’. Draco takes the phone to work with him on Monday, and if any of his employees find it odd that the boss is continually checking a muggle mobile phone, they are wise enough not to mention it.

When he gets home that evening Harry explains that he can’t send texts or call from his office as it is underground and there’s no signal, whatever that means. He does promise, though, to keep the phone on him at all times, so if he gets called away suddenly he has it with him. The next day at lunchtime Draco’s message alert tone sounds, and he quickly shoos his secretary away and opens his inbox. ‘ _Love you lots xxx’_ is all it says, and Draco smiles as he realises Harry must have left the Ministry just to send him a message. This continues for two weeks; every lunchtime, Draco gets a little love message from Harry, and eventually Draco caves and clears his throat as Harry is heading for the spare bedroom.

“It’s been a lot colder recently,” Draco says.

Harry frowns. “Has it? Give me a few minutes and I’ll put a thicker duvet on for you...”

“I don’t want a thicker duvet,” Draco says, rolling his eyes, “I want something to keep me warm.”

Harry bites his lip. “I don’t think we have a hot water bottle...”

“Merlin’s beard!” Draco sighs in exasperation, “Just come to bed, Harry.”

Harry’s face lights up brilliantly. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do,” Draco says, taking Harry’s hand, “Just promise me you’ll never scare me like that again.”

“I promise,” Harry says, and that night, curled in their usual position with Harry’s back pressed firmly against Draco’s chest, they both have the best night’s sleep they’ve had in weeks.

* * *

Thankfully, the incident does no lasting damage to their relationship. Quite the opposite, actually; they seem to be a lot closer because of it. In fact, the only person who is permanently scarred by the whole experience is Weasley. Harry must have told him that he is back in Draco’s good books, as Weasley is actually smiling when he drops the kids off in time for ‘The X Factor’ this week. He clears his throat just as Draco is leaving the room.

“By the way, Malfoy, cute animagus. Fluffy and cuddly suits you perfectly.”

Obviously he’s forgotten that Slytherins always have the last word, and he nearly chokes on his tongue when Draco returns his children to him with Slytherin green hair. Even more wonderful, in Draco’s view, is that they love it. As they leave, Weasley’s face is almost the same colour as his children’s hair, and even Harry laughs once they are completely out of sight.

“Wasn’t that a bit cruel?”

“He called me cute, fluffy and cuddly in the same breath.”

“Ouch,” Harry winces.

Draco smirks and slips his arms around Harry’s waist. “He obviously forgot that only you’re allowed to call me that.”

“Very well, then, my cute, fluffy, cuddly man,” Harry laughs, “What do you think about an early night?”

Draco grins, knowing that early is the last thing Harry means. “Sounds perfect.”


	8. Beer

**Chapter 8. Beer**

“But I’m sleepy,” Draco groans, clutching the cushion tighter and praying that Harry won’t make him move. Unfortunately, Harry’s having none of it.

“It’s Ron’s birthday,” Harry snaps, “And you’ve known that we’re going out for over a week! Bloody hell, Draco, it’s only drinks. If you prefer, I can contact Molly and Arthur and say you’ll help them out with babysitting all the kids...”

“I’m awake!” Draco yells, plumping up the cushion and getting to his feet, “Do I need to change?”

He’s still in his work robe, cut in a modern style that buttons only down to the waist before falling straight to his ankles. It’s not as formal as his other robes, but is still far fancier than anything Harry owns. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Wear what you like. I’m just going to throw on a shirt to go with my jeans.”

He heads for the bedroom and Draco sighs, knowing Harry is never going to change. Draco supposes he’ll just have to make sure he has enough style for the both of them. When Harry’s ready, the pair of them apparate to Diagon Alley and head for the new pub that’s recently opened next to Gringotts. Harry pushes open the door and gestures at Draco to go in, but before he can cross the threshold Draco hears someone shouting their names and he glances over his shoulder to see Granger waving at them from across the street.

“Harry! Draco!” she calls again, beckoning them over. Harry lets the door swing shut and frowns in confusion.

“Hermione? Is something wrong?”

“Didn’t you get my owl earlier?” she asks, but carries on speaking before either of them have a chance to reply, “Never mind. There’s just been a change of plan, that’s all.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

“Charlie’s bringing his boyfriend.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Wow. I can’t remember Charlie ever being serious enough about someone to introduce them to the family.”

“Exactly,” Granger says, “They’ve been dating almost a year, but I still didn’t expect this. Come on, or we’ll be late.”

Draco frowns. “But why can’t they come here, like we planned?”

As soon as he asks the question he knows the answer, and moments later Granger confirms his suspicions. “Derek’s a muggle.”

“Ah,” Harry says, “And he doesn’t know, yet?”

“No.”

“Right. I didn’t bring any muggle money, though.”

“Don’t worry,” Granger reassures him, “I brought plenty. You can pay me back later. And Draco...”

“What do I do?” he asks, slightly panicked, “I don’t know how to talk to a real life muggle! What do I say to it?”

“ _Honestly_. Just talk to him like you would any of us, but don’t mention anything magical. Tell him about your favourite TV show, or something. Oh, and I’m afraid the robe will have to go.”

Draco’s eyes widen in alarm. “Don’t you dare!” he yells, but he doesn’t even have time to draw his wand before Granger casts and his robe turns into a muggle leather jacket. Draco stares at it in horror. “That was my best work robe!” he splutters.

Granger rolls her eyes. “You own a law firm, Draco. I’m sure you can afford another. Now, shall we?”

She holds out her arms, and Draco gives her The Death Glare before grabbing on. Somehow, she’s become immune to it too. As she apparates them away, Draco decides that The Death Glare really needs some more practice.

The pub she takes them to is rather nice, Draco thinks. They’re not in London any more, that’s for sure. They seem to be on a quiet country lane, the lights of the pub shining like a beacon in the early evening gloom. Granger pulls out a handful of muggle money to lend them, which Draco instantly snatches.

“If you have it,” he tells Harry, “It’ll be gone in the first half an hour.” Harry pouts, but doesn’t protest.

The pub is as nice on the inside as on the outside, and Draco instantly spots the entire corner that has been overtaken with all of Weasley’s siblings and their spouses. At least there are no kids. Hermione leads them over, and Draco instantly identifies Dragon Weasley’s boyfriend, the only member of the group he hasn’t met before. The man looks like he could have walked off the cover of Harry’s favourite men’s magazine. Artfully messy, golden hair tops a handsome face with deep brown eyes and some of the whitest teeth Draco has ever seen. He sees Harry staring out of the corner of his eye, and surreptitiously reaches out to pinch his boyfriend’s bum. Harry jumps and glares at him, but as Harry’s attention is back on the right person Draco doesn’t mind so much.

“Harry! Malfoy! You made it,” Weasley says, standing up and pulling Harry into a bear hug.

“Course we did. Happy birthday, mate,” Harry says, and Draco offers Weasley his hand.

“Happy birthday, Weasley,” he says, before turning to the other members of the group. He nods his head at each in turn. “Weasley. Weasley. Weasley. Weasley. Weasley. Weasley. Weasley. Longbottom. Longbottom.”

He takes a seat next to Harry, and everyone starts laughing at the confused look on the muggle’s face. Dragon Weasley grins at him.

“Don’t mind Malfoy, it’s just the way he is. Anyway, Harry, Malfoy, this is Derek Hopper, my other half. Derek, this is Harry, our honorary brother, and his other half, Draco Malfoy.”

“It’s Malfoy to you,” Draco mutters. He doesn’t like the way Hopper is looking at Harry, and Draco shifts closer in to his boyfriend’s side.

“Don’t mind him,” Joker Weasley tells Hopper with a grin, “He’s bad tempered with everyone. So, drinks, anyone?”

A chorus of agreement meets that idea, and given that Draco’s got the money, he gets up and follows the others to the bar. One of the servers, a young girl Draco doubts is actually old enough to work behind the bar, instantly sidles up to him and gives him a wide grin.

“What can I get for you, sir?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Two firewhiskeys, please,” he says, trying to work out how much that will be in muggle money.

The server looks confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Two...”

“Beers. Give the man two house beers,” Joker Weasley interrupts, leaning closer to Draco as the girl nods and grabs two pint glasses, “Muggle pub, remember?” anonymous

Draco flushes, embarrassed at having forgotten that little detail. The girl sets two frothing glasses down in front of Draco and he hesitatingly counts out the right coins to hand her. He’s about to get out his wand to levitate the drinks back to the table when he realises that he can’t do that either, and he reluctantly picks up both full glasses and heads back to the table. He can’t keep his hands steady, and the amber liquid flows over the tops and trickles down his hands, staining the cuffs of his shirt orange.

“Merlin’s balls,” he swears as he sets the glasses down in front of his and Harry’s seats. Harry touches his thigh tentatively.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Draco says, before lowering his voice, “I asked for firewhiskey by mistake. Joker Weasley ordered us two butterbeers instead.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s not butterbeer. That’s muggle beer.”

“How different can it be?” Draco asks, and takes a big mouthful. The next instant, he has to fight to stop himself spraying it all over the table. It’s the exact opposite of the sweet, syrupy drink he often enjoyed as a teenager; it’s bitter and vaguely woody, and he wrinkles his nose and forces himself to swallow. Harry laughs at him.

“Oh Draco, the look on your face!”

“That’s revolting,” Draco groans, smacking his lips to try and rid them of the taste.

Harry takes a sip of his own pint. “Actually, that’s quite nice.”

“ _What_?”

“Beer’s an acquired taste,” Harry informs him, “Trust me, it’ll grow on you.”

“Are you sure I can’t get a firewhiskey from somewhere?” Draco asks in desperation.

“Firewhiskey? What’s that?” Hopper asks.

The entire table freezes; luckily, Granger has her wits about her. “Draco and Harry went on holiday recently. Jamaica, wasn’t it?”

Harry sighs in relief next to Draco. “Yes, of course. They had it there. I’d forgotten.” Dragon Weasley hurriedly distracts his boyfriend, and Harry digs an elbow into Draco’s ribs. “You need to be more careful,” he whispers, “Maybe it will be better if you don’t drink – we don’t want you saying something accidentally...”

Draco pulls his pint closer. “You can’t make me come out for an evening with the entire hoard of Weasleys and expect me not to drink. I’m drinking, even if it does taste like dragon piss.”

And with that Draco downs his pint in one. It is a lot less offensive on his palate that way. He grins at Harry’s gobsmacked expression and holds up his empty glass.

“Another?”

* * *

As Harry predicted, the beer starts tasting good as Draco drinks his fifth pint. Whether this is because he is getting used to the taste or whether it’s because he’s too tipsy to care, he doesn’t know, but to be honest he doesn’t really mind which is the correct explanation. What does upset him, though, is that the night is declared over just as he’s about to buy pint number nine.

“No!” he yells as Harry tries to slot his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, “Just one more!”

Joker Weasley, who’s also had a fair bit to drink, laughs as he helps his wife up. “You’re going to have your hands full with him, Harry. He’s taken to beer like a niffler to gold!”

“I’m a cat, not a niffler,” Draco announces, outraged.

“What’s a niffler?” Hopper asks.

“Ask Dragon Weasley,” Draco hiccups, then laughs at the bemused look on Hopper’s face, “Too many Weasleys. Dragon Weasley, Veela Weasley, Joker Weasley, Harry’s Weasley, Longbottom Weaslette Weasley, Stuck-up Weasley...”

“Okay, Draco,” Harry interrupts, throwing Draco’s arm over his shoulder and helping him up, “I think it’s time to get you home.”

“Home?” Draco wails, “But you’re not drunk! Not fair. You get horny when you’re drunk. Horny horny Harry.”

“Oh, we are so rubbing this in his face the next time we see him!” Joker Weasley laughs as Harry’s face flushes scarlet.

“Sorry about this,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Weasley chortles, and even Granger’s laughing, “I think we should get him hammered more often.”

Draco cheerily waves goodbye to everyone and Harry leads him outside, immediately apparating them back to their flat. Draco grins in relief and loops his thumbs clumsily through Harry’s belt loops.

“Bed, Harry.”

“Yes,” Harry says, “Bed. For sleeping.”

Draco pouts. “Don’t wanna sleep.”

Harry groans and pulls away, heading for the bathroom. “Damn it, why aren’t we stocked up on sobering potions?” he asks in frustration.

Draco grins. “Because I like it when you’re drunk. Horny Harry.”

“Yes, I heard you at the pub,” Harry sighs, “But I’m not drunk, and I’m not horny right now.”

That’s the worst news Draco’s ever had. “But I love you, Harry!” he whines.

“I love you too,” Harry says, “And if you love me, you’ll wait until I’m ready.”

Draco nods anxiously. “How long?”

“Only until tomorrow,” Harry says.

Draco sighs in relief. “I can wait,” he says, and readily lets Harry undress him, brush his teeth and tuck him into bed. Draco pulls Harry close and buries his nose in the thick, dark hair. It smells much better than normal, and Draco sighs happily. He loves beer.

* * *

The following morning, Draco spends at least an hour kneeling in front of the toilet, moaning softly and cursing his decision not to brew any more sobering potions. Harry brings him a glass of water and rubs his back soothingly.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks far too cheerfully when Draco manages to spend fifteen minutes without heaving.

“You take me anywhere near that stuff again and I’ll hex your bits off,” Draco groans, “What happened?”

“Well, you drank everyone else completely under the table. You should be prepared for some teasing the next time you see George – you quite happily told him that I’m a horny drunk...”

“I did not!” Draco exclaims in horror, but before he can question Harry further his stomach heaves and he leans back over the toilet bowl. It looks like he’s going to be getting some extra obliviation practice.

“I hate beer,” he groans.


	9. Monopoly

**Chapter 9. Monopoly**

The next month it is Joker Weasley’s birthday, and rather than go out to the pub, he asks Harry and Draco if they can have a party in their apartment.

“Is it because he wants a quieter night?” Draco asks as he stacks his files and bundles them away into the office

Harry snorts. “Of course not. It’s because George’s idea of a good night involves doing things that wouldn’t be acceptable in a muggle place unless he wants me to arrest him.”

Draco scratches the back of his head as he looks for his favourite quill. “So he’s not planning on holding back? Hopper’s still fairly new at this, after all.”

“Fairly new? Charlie only told him last week,” Harry comments, “I guess he thinks it’ll be easier to introduce Derek to wizarding things at a family do rather than in public. That’s why he and George asked if we could host the party here; they think our place is the most muggle-friendly.”

Draco is about to rebuke that statement but then pauses and takes a second to think about their flat. TV, kettle, microwave... Yes, he supposes grudgingly, he can see why the Weasleys think that. He frowns and looks around the living room.

“There’s nothing in here that’ll give him a heart attack, is there?”

Harry chuckles. “It depends on whether or not he gets a good look at your arse in those jeans.”

Draco blushes at the compliment. He’d wondered why Harry had been so adamant on buying them the previous week. He’s about to reply but is interrupted by the buzzer on the flat. Harry grins.

“Showtime.”

* * *

“What’s this?” Draco says when he finally gets round to looking at the big box Hopper brought.

Hopper flushes. “It’s nothing...”

“No, it’s not. What’s Monopoly?”

Hopper sighs. “It’s a game we usually play at family parties. I suppose I should have guessed that you guys’ idea of entertainment would be a bit different from ours.” He glances over his shoulder in embarrassment, flushing brighter at the sight of the fluffy golden tail curling over the top of his waistband. Dragon Weasley leans over and pets Hopper’s furry, pointy ears.

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you not to accept any food from George.”

“It’s okay,” Hopper says quietly, unconsciously closing his eyes and leaning into the stroking. Draco knows exactly how that feels. “But they will definitely be gone by tomorrow, right?”

“Course they will,” Joker Weasley says and pops one of the sweets into his own mouth. He instantly sprouts his own ears and tail, bright ginger to match his hair. His wife rolls her eyes and heaves a long-suffering sigh.

Draco shrugs and sets down the box, but it is instantly snatched up again by Granger. “I think we should play.”

Hopper looks embarrassed at the attention. “We don’t have to...”

“My parents are muggles,” Granger says, “And we used to play this all the time. You’ll know how to play Monopoly, won’t you, Harry?”

Harry laughs. “I know how to lose.”

Granger grins. “Right, then. There aren’t enough tokens for one each, so we’ll have to pair up...”

“What’s this game even about?” Weasley asks, taking a large gulp of his beer.

“It’s about buying property and trying to make the most money...”

“I want Malfoy!” Weasley yells, lurching forward and spilling the remains of his drink everywhere. Draco sighs; he doesn’t think the vacuum cleaner will do that stain any good at all. Then he registers what Granger’s just said.

“A game about making money?” he asks, thinking that this actually sounds quite interesting.

Harry laughs and grabs Draco round the waist. “Hands off, Ron, he’s mine. Come on, Draco, let’s go buy London!”

* * *

Draco quickly decides that Monopoly is one of the best games ever invented. Despite one half of their team being a muggle, Dragon Weasley and Hopper are the first pair out, falling foul of the pair of houses Draco’s built on Trafalgar Square.

“What?” Hopper says when he hands Draco all their remaining money, “I said I played it all the time with the family; I never said I was any good at it.”

“It’s alright,” Dragon Weasley assures him, “It just means we get our pick of the food.”

They disappear into the kitchen and Draco wastes no time lamenting their exit and rolls the dice. “Yes!” he yells with glee when, for the first time in the game, a token lands on Park Lane. Harry whoops in delight and kisses Draco’s cheek whilst the rest of the group groan and reach for their various drinks.

“Game over,” Stuck-up Weasley grunts.

“You never know,” Granger says, but even though Draco’s never played this game before he knows Stuck-up Weasley’s right. Now he’s got Park Lane he can start developing that and Mayfair, and in total he and Harry own the dark blues, the reds, all the stations and Pall Mall, which he insists they buy for the sole reason of annoying Weasley and Granger, who are desperate to complete the pink set. Given that there are – or were, anyway – seven couples playing, he doesn’t think that it is too shabby a collection.

“Your turn,” he says, passing the dice to Granger. She rolls an eight, and she and Weasley groan in unison as their top hat gets sent straight to jail. Draco cackles. Gryffindor heroes in jail? This is definitely his sort of game.

Veela Weasley and his quarter veela wife are out next, followed by Stuck-up Weasley and his wife. Draco’s property empire keeps on building, and by the time Joker Weasley and his wife crash out Draco’s managed to amass more than half the board, adding the browns and oranges to his and Harry’s collection. An unlucky roll from Harry lands them on the three houses on Coventry Street, keeping Granger and Weasley in the game for now. The person Draco’s most surprised about is Longbottom; next to Draco, he’s the most ruthless player on the board, and he’s also been very shrewd about which of his properties to develop. Draco’s respect for the Gryffindor raises a notch; he’s come a long way since his exploding cauldron, might-as-well-be-a-doormat-for-all-the-talent-he-has days.

Unfortunately for Granger and Weasley, their luck doesn’t hold, and on the next roll of the dice their top hot lands firmly on Draco’s Mayfair hotel. “Yes!” Draco yells, pumping his fist in the air like Harry always does when he watches the muggle ball game on the telly on Saturday afternoons, “That’ll be two thousand, please!”

“Merlin’s balls!” Weasley swears, quickly receiving a smack from Granger for his language, “Here, if we sell these houses and remortgage, we might just have enough...”

“Tell you what, Weasley,” Draco says, “Sell the houses, give me Whitehall and Northumberland Avenue and we’ll call it even.”

Harry frowns. “That doesn’t nearly cover it, Draco, and you’ll only be delaying the inevitable.”

Draco grins. “I call it prolonging the agony.”

Weasley groans. “Bloody Slytherin.”

* * *

Weasley and Granger go bankrupt shortly afterwards, and although they put up a brave fight, the Longbottoms soon follow. Draco straightens his back and looks imperiously down at the board.

“We did it, Harry. We bought London.”

Harry laughs and hugs Draco tightly. “That we did.”

Draco sweeps the hotels and houses off the board. “Another game, anyone?”

“God, no,” Hopper says as he starts to pack away the game, “I think I’ll need a while to recover from that slaughtering before I play you again, thank you very much.”

Draco watches sadly as all the money disappears into the box. “I want it.”

“What? Monopoly?” Hopper laughs, “Tell you what, call me by my first name and I’ll buy you it for Christmas.”

“Deal,” Draco says instantly.

Weasley splutters. “What? After all this time, you’re telling me that all we needed to do to get you to stop calling us Weasleys one through six was to buy you a muggle game?”

Draco sniffs. “Be reasonable, Harry’s Weasley. I haven’t called you by numbers in months.”

“Well, I for one could use another drink,” Stuck-up Weasley’s wife declares, “I think I saw champagne in the fridge earlier...”

“I’ll get it,” Hopper, no, Derek says as he puts the lid on the box and stands up, “I need to put this out of the way anyway.”

“He seems to be taking it quite well,” Granger comments when he’s left the room.

Dragon Weasley grins. “I know. I can’t describe the relief. Just the thought of having to call the obliviators made me sick.”

Granger opens her mouth to add something else but Derek returns, frowning at the champagne bottle. “It was already open so it might be a bit flat...”

Dragon Weasley points his wand at the bottle and casts a charm to make it fizzy again. “Now it’s not.”

Derek stares at the bottle in wonder. “Wow. I guess I’ve still got a lot to learn.”

The bottle gets passed round, everyone topping up their empty glasses from earlier, and when it’s all been dished out Granger raises her glass in a toast. “To Draco, who’s obviously still as power-hungry as ever, and to the birthday boy. Happy birthday, George.”

They all echo the sentiment and take a sip of the champagne, and the next instant, they are all sprouting ears and tails to match Derek’s and Joker Weasley’s. Draco glares at him in disgust.

“How _dare_ you spike one of my bottles of Krug ninety-eight!” he growls, “Do you know how good a vintage that is?”

“Easy tiger,” Joker Weasley laughs, “It’s just a bit of fun.”

Draco harrumphs, then instantly calms when he feels a wonderful pressure on the back of his ears. He groans, tilting his head into Harry’s hand. It’s almost as good as when he’s an actual cat.

“This might just be me being ignorant,” Derek says, “But why are Draco’s ears and tail black? Everyone else’s matches their hair colour.”

“It’s probably something to do with his animagus ability,” Granger supplies, “That means he can turn into an animal at will. It’s highly complex and difficult magic.”

“You’re an animagus?” Veela Weasley asks, sounding impressed, “Which animal?”

“A long-haired Siamese cat,” Granger states.

“Technically he’s a Balinese,” Harry says as he squeezes Draco’s thigh proudly, and Draco can see the hurt and disappointment in Harry’s eyes over the fact that he’s still not managed it yet. Draco pulls Harry into a hug and strokes his tail gently. He’ll get it, Draco just knows he will.

The moment is spoiled when Weasley grins maliciously. “Malfoy can be cute, fluffy and cuddly. It’s a bloody miracle.”

Obviously he hasn’t learned his lesson yet, and he spends the rest of the evening with his ears and tail coloured a gorgeous Slytherin green.


	10. Zoo

**Chapter 10. Zoo**

Draco hears the crack of apparition and the next moment Harry walks into the living room. Draco glances up and mutes the TV when he sees the look on Harry’s face.

“Still no luck?” he asks, levitating his files off the sofa and patting the space next to him.

Harry sighs despondently and flops down next to him, threading their fingers together. “I don’t know why I can’t do it. Maybe my magic’s just not strong enough.”

Draco snorts. “Are you serious?”

“What else could it be?” Harry sniffs, “I mean, how did you do it? Yvonne says you picked it up quicker than anyone she’s ever assisted.”

Draco shrugs; he wants to help Harry, he really does, but he just doesn’t know how. “I don’t know. Once I figured out what I was it just seemed to happen naturally...”

“Wait,” Harry interrupts, “Once you figured out what you were? But nobody knows what type of animal they’ll be until they transform for the first time!”

Draco rubs Harry’s knuckles. “Well, I didn’t know what species, exactly, but I sat down and had a really honest think about what animal my personality matched. I came up with feline and something just seemed right, and once I knew roughly what I was aiming for, it made it a lot easier to finish off the details.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “So, what, I just need some animal inspiration?”

“Essentially, yes. You don’t have to figure it out exactly, but if you have a vague image in your head it will definitely help you focus your efforts. So, any idea where to start?”

Harry opens his mouth then pauses, grinning. “Actually, I think I do.”

* * *

“What was this place called again?” Draco asks as Harry pays for their entrance. Draco doesn’t know why they didn’t just apparate inside the fence and avoid paying. He supposes that’s why he’s not a Gryffindor.

“A zoo.”

“And it exists why?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “So muggles can fulfil their curiosity about animal species which are not native to their own country. And the breeding programmes increase the populations of species on the verge of extinction, of course.”

“That was actually rather eloquently put, Harry,” Draco says, impressed.

Harry laughs. “I’m learning from the best. So, where shall we start?”

Draco glances at the map and grins evilly. “The reptile house.”

Harry elbows him in the stomach. “Be serious, will you?” He freezes, and his face pales. “Oh hell, you don’t really think I’d be a snake, do you?”

Draco sighs and takes Harry’s arm, ignoring the curious looks from the children around them. “I don’t know. I was thinking about it last night, and I find it hard to pin you to a single animal. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Don’t look so worried; I’ll love you whatever you are.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods resolutely. They head towards the reptile house, and Draco’s eyes widen as they step inside. He knows what all the animals are at a basic level, but he’s never realised just how many different types of everything there are. This single room houses at least half a dozen types of tortoise, several lizards, something that looks suspiciously like a miniature crocodile and several types of snake. Fascinated, he heads over to the symbols of his Hogwarts house, reading the little placards attached to the wall with interest. He senses Harry walk up next to him, and the next moment a shiver runs up his back as he hears Harry hiss softly to the large royal python, which rises up and eyes them with far more interest than it had been doing a moment ago.

“What’s it saying?” Draco asks excitedly.

Harry smiles sadly. “He’s lonely, and his tank’s too small.”

And suddenly Draco isn’t too enamoured with the zoo anymore. He looks around and can see that yes, the majority of animals are in tanks and cages far too small, with children constantly banging their hands on the glass to try and get them to move. He’s never seen animals as anything other than inferior, a lesser species to humans, but if snakes have a language and intellect complex enough to hold a conversation with Harry, what other animals could be intelligent enough to know they’re caged but unable to do anything about it?

“You know, the first time I talked to a snake was at a zoo when I was ten,” Harry says quietly, “It was upset because it had never seen Brazil, and I accidentally vanished the glass and set it free.”

Draco doesn’t doubt him for a second. “Could you do the same for this one?” he asks, looking at the poor snake with pity.

Harry stares at him. “You want the Head Auror to _intentionally_ free a hungry, six foot constrictor into a muggle area full of meal-sized animals?”

“We could steal it and take it with us!” Draco says, “As long as it doesn’t eat us, of course.”

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Harry asks incredulously, “I am _not_ stealing a snake because you’ve suddenly decided you want it as a pet!”

Draco attempts The Puppy Dog Eyes, but he’s never been as good at it as The Death Glare. “You said yourself it’s lonely. Just ask him what he wants!”

Harry gapes, but after a moment he checks there are no muggles in hearing distance before hissing softly to the snake. He cocks his head as the snake hisses back, and he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his hands so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Well?” Draco asks impatiently.

Harry’s breath whistles out between his clenched teeth. “If we steal this snake, he’s your responsibility. You feed him, you vac up his shed skin...”

“Done,” Draco announces.

Harry groans. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know.”

Draco happily grabs Harry’s arm. “But you love me anyway. Tell him we’ll come back for him at the end of the day. So, are you feeling any animal instinct vibes from anything in here?”

Harry glances around but shakes his head, and the pair leave the reptile house and continue meandering around the zoo. Draco expects Harry to have a reaction to the lions, but he glances at them with no more interest than the he does the hippos or the giraffes. The monkeys draw a blank, as does the aviary, and as they near the end of the day Draco starts to worry that Harry’s not going to find the inspiration he’s looking for. He reaches out for Harry’s hand, ready to tell him that he musn’t worry, that Harry must be something really rare and spectacular and that he’ll get it eventually, but Harry isn’t there.

Draco wheels round and scans the busy path for his boyfriend. He starts panicking when he can’t see Harry anywhere and he hurriedly backtracks, fighting his way against the tide of laughing children and their haggard-looking parents. Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly catches sight of the light shimmering, the classic sign of someone moving under a disillusionment charm. Hoping it’s Harry, Draco darts across the path and slips down behind one of the thick shrubs lining the side of a large animal cage, casting some quick muggle repelling charms as soon as he can get the wand out of his pocket.

“Harry?” he whispers, “Harry, are you there?”

The air shimmers in front of him and then Harry appears, his face as white as chalk and his teeth digging furrows into his lower lip. Draco sucks in a deep breath and leans forward to grip Harry’s forearms.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry’s eyes, big and green and agonised, meet Draco’s and he glances across into the animal enclosure. Draco follows his gaze and his breath catches in his throat as he sees exactly what animals the pen holds. They’re far more impressive than Draco’s housecat form, that’s for sure.

“Harry,” he breathes.

To his astonishment, Harry looks near tears. “I should have known,” he whispers.

Draco frowns. “Known what?”

“That this is what I’d be. A carnivore. A killer.”

Draco recoils, shocked, hardly able to believe that Harry feels that way. He glances up again, and the sleek grey animal stares at him for a moment longer before turning tail and loping off into the bushes. Draco feels his insides squeeze. It is perfect for Harry, but Harry obviously hates the thought. How is this possible? Can Harry really hate the physical embodiment of his personality enough to drive him to tears?

A single bead of moisture escapes Harry’s eyes and winds its way down his cheek. Draco’s heart breaks for him and he pulls Harry into a crushing hug, tucking his head against Draco’s neck. Harry shudders against him.

“I was so excited at the thought of it,” he whispers brokenly, “But now...”

He trails off, and Draco nuzzles gently into Harry’s neck. “You’re not a killer, Harry.”

Harry sniffs. “But...”

“Just listen to me for a minute. Both of us know you’re not a vegetarian, so forget about the carnivore bit. You are not a killer, Harry Potter.”

Harry doesn’t meet Draco’s eyes. “Then why that animal?”

“Because they aren’t killers either, not in the way you’re afraid of. They do only what they need to survive. Now, who does that remind you of?” Harry glances up for the barest second, long enough for Draco to see the spark of hope flare in his eyes. “As far as I’m aware, you’ve never once used the killing curse. You’ve been in battles for your life and still you wouldn’t use more than a stunner or expelliarmus. You did only what you needed to, nothing more.

“As for the rest of it, everything fits. You practically got adopted by the Weasleys, essentially like a young pup joining a new pack. You’re fiercely loyal and protective of those you consider family, and look after their kids as if they were your own. Rose and Hugo adore you, we both know that. Despite being a family man, you’re not afraid to strike out on your own. You’ve got all the qualities you admired in your godfather, just in a bit more mature package. Above all...” Draco pauses, takes a deep breath and puts his fingers under Harry’s chin, raising his head until their eyes are locked. “You mate for life. This animal fits you perfectly, Harry. I love it, and I love you.”

The hug Harry gives him nearly crushes Draco’s ribs, but he doesn’t mind one bit. He pets Harry’s hair gently, before lowering a thumb to brush the tears off his cheeks. Harry sniffles and pecks kisses along Draco’s jaw line.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Thank you. Are you sure you’re okay with the fact that, well, the carnivore thing?”

Draco rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I’m a cat, Harry. Not a very big one, I admit, but I’ve still got all the appropriate hunting instincts. Think of me as a tiger in a more manageable package.”

Harry laughs, and the sound is like music to Draco’s ears. “So you think I’ll be able to do it now I know what I’m going to be?”

Draco rubs Harry’s knuckles. “I don’t think knowing was the issue. I think that, subconsciously, your mind didn’t approve of the form you were trying to impose on your body, and it wouldn’t let you transform.”

“That makes sense,” Harry muses, “But hopefully that shouldn’t be a problem now.”

Draco kisses Harry’s temple. “You’re going to be magnificent.”

Harry flushes. “We’ll see. So, how about going to dinner to celebrate?”

“Sounds good,” Draco says, getting up and pulling Harry to his feet, “We’ll go as soon as we’ve rescued the snake.”

Harry groans. “I was rather hoping you’d have forgotten that part,” he says, but he’s smiling as they slip out from behind the shrubs, and Draco’s heart feels ten times lighter.


	11. Picnic

**Chapter 11. Picnic**

Draco drums his fingers on the plastic chair next to him, purely because it’s annoying the reception witch. He grins in satisfaction. That’s what happens when you try and flirt with what’s mine, he thinks smugly. As soon as she lowers her head to start working again, Draco starts whistling. She squeezes her quill so hard it snaps, and Draco forces himself not to snort in amusement. He really has missed the wonderful feeling of superiority he gets from, well, just being superior. He is filthy rich and has the best boyfriend in the whole world; it doesn’t get much better than that. He decides he should take the time to feel superior more often and blocks Wednesday afternoon off in his mental diary.

The ping from the lift has his head falling out of the clouds in an instant and he looks up in time to see Harry step out of the lift with a huge shit-eating grin on his face and a familiar scroll in one hand. Draco whoops, shoots out of his seat and lifts Harry up by the waist, spinning him around. The reception witch glares at him and Draco smirks smugly at her. Harry’s all his, thank you very much, and right now, Draco’s never been prouder of him.

“You did it,” he whispers in Harry’s ear.

“All thanks to you,” Harry whispers back, kissing the side of Draco’s neck.

Draco hums in contentment. “So, do you want to go out for lunch?”

Harry grins, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Sure. We’ll have to go home for a short while first, though. There are a few things I need to sort out, and it’ll give you time to feed Nigel as well.” 

Draco grins, and lets Harry apparate them home.

* * *

Harry disappears into the kitchen, giving Draco time to pamper his snake.

“Hello, Nigel,” he says, sitting down on the sofa next to the python. Nigel stirs, tastes Draco’s skin and starts to wind his way round Draco’s arm. Draco smiles, petting the smooth scales gently. He wishes he could talk to Nigel like Harry can, but he supposes having a translator is better than nothing. After all, they wouldn’t have known Nigel’s name otherwise, or the fact that he is far happier with them than he was at the zoo. According to Harry, Nigel calls Draco ‘sun’, in part because of his blonde hair, but also because to snakes, being cold-blooded, the sun is seen as ‘the giver of life’, and Draco was the one who vanished the glass in Nigel’s tank, shrunk him, slipped him into his pocket and brought him home. Draco thinks it is awfully sentimental, and he prides himself on having such a clever pet.

Harry finishes in the kitchen in about fifteen minutes, and after feeding a fresh dead rat to Nigel – how muggle snake owners can cope with the smell without magic, Draco doesn’t know – Draco obediently changes into muggle clothes, ignores Harry’s raised eyebrow and takes Harry’s arm for their apparition. They appear in a small alley, and they emerge onto a quiet road with a large park on the other side. Draco glances about questioningly.

“I don’t recognise this place. Where are we going to eat?” he asks.

Harry grins and pats his pocket. “I’ve packed us a picnic.”

“A picnic?” Draco asks, “What’s that?”

Harry gapes at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a picnic?”

“Obviously not, if I don’t know what one is.”

Harry takes his elbow, leading him across the road. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

They stroll sedately through the park, which is rather busier than Draco would have liked. A fenced off area with some wooden frames inside it is crawling with children, and a few men are pushing children on two wheeled contraptions down the path. They all stare at Harry and Draco as they walk past, and Draco subconsciously snuggles closer to Harry.

“Harry, everyone’s staring at me.”

“That’s because it’s twenty degrees plus and you’re wearing a trench coat.”

Draco still doesn’t see what the problem is. “But it’s the closest thing to robes you’ll let me wear! And I don’t care about the weather; I’ve put a cooling charm on the coat.”

“But muggles don’t have cooling charms, do they? That’s why every other person here is in shorts and a T-shirt.”

“Nobody cared at the zoo,” Draco pouts.

“That’s because it was freezing the day we went to the zoo, and everyone was wrapped up warm. Ah, now that’s perfect.”

He pulls Draco off the footpath and into the shade of a large tree. Draco looks about expectantly.

“Well? Where is this picnic restaurant?”

Harry laughs, pulling something out of his pocket. “Right here,” he says, and with a quick flick of his wand his arms are suddenly full with a large wicker basket and a zigzag-patterned blanket. Draco watches in confusion as Harry puts down the basket, shakes the blanket out and sets it on the ground. Draco recoils in repulsion when he realises what it’s for.

“You can’t expect me to sit on the ground to eat – it’s filthy!”

“That’s why I brought the blanket,” Harry laughs, sitting down and patting the space next to him. Draco glares, but he knows that this is Harry’s big day, and if this is what Harry wants to do then Draco will give it a go. He gathers up the folds of his coat and, as gracefully as he can, lowers himself onto the blanket.

“It’s hard,” he grumbles, shifting about to try and move the twig that’s digging into his arse.

“No harder than the chairs in a fancy restaurant,” Harry counters as he flips the lid of the basket and starts pulling out various containers of food. A bottle of champagne and two flutes – Draco gasps in dismay when he realises that they’re plastic – follow, and Harry quickly pops the cork out, pours two glasses and puts the bottle under a cooling charm.

“Cheers,” he says, passing one flute to Draco.

“Cheers,” Draco says, “And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, “Well, dig in.”

Draco snorts; has Harry not realised there’s something missing? “Where’s the cutlery?” he asks.

Harry shrugs. “It’s a picnic. We eat with our fingers.”

Draco stares at him, horrified. “Surely you can’t be serious. Do you have any idea how unhygienic that is?”

Harry lifts an eyebrow and picks up a miniature sausage. “Well, if you don’t want to feed yourself I suppose I’ll just have to do it for you, won’t I?” he says, reaching up to hold the sausage to Draco’s lips. Draco’s eyes widen in shock, but he obediently takes the sausage from Harry’s fingers. Harry pops one into his own mouth before picking up a small pastry, once again offering it to Draco. Draco takes a bite, and his breath hitches when Harry leans forward and delicately licks pastry flakes from the side of his mouth. Draco groans, and as soon as a muggle family have walked past he grabs his wand and throws up a few privacy charms before lazily reclining on the blanket and looking up at his boyfriend expectantly. He decides he rather likes this cutlery-free method of eating after all.

* * *

They stay in the park long after the picnic’s done, lying side by side on the blanket under the tree with their fingers entwined and the sunlight dappled on their faces. Draco sighs in contentment, rubbing Harry’s knuckles with his thumb.

“What?” Harry asks lazily.

“It’s just... I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy,” Draco says.

Harry grins. “You old sap,” he says, rolling over and delicately kissing Draco’s temple.

Draco smiles, tracing Harry’s lip with his thumb. “Can I see you?” he asks softly.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, before his eyes widen slightly. He pushes himself up and flaps his hand at Draco.”Turn around for a second.”

Draco does so, and moments later he feels something cold and wet brush his hand. He looks over his shoulder and gasps when he sees Harry’s animagus form for the first time. Just as Draco predicted, Harry’s magnificent. His fur is thick and glossy, completely black except for two thin rings of dark grey around his green eyes. His ears are pricked towards Draco, and his long pink tongue dangles playfully out of the side of his muzzle. He’s not as large as the ones they saw in the zoo, but that doesn’t make him any less breathtaking.

“You’re incredible, Harry,” Draco breathes, reaching out to stroke the muzzle of the wolf in front of him. Harry licks his face, and Draco doesn’t need to be able to understand him to know what Harry means. Draco smiles, and kisses Harry’s shiny, wet nose.

"I love you, too."


	12. Passport

**Chapter 12. Passport**

“What do you think about a holiday?” Harry asks.

Draco tries to look up, but Nigel is looping himself playfully around Draco’s neck and Merlin, he’s heavy. “A holiday?”

“Yeah. We’ve been together nearly two years, and we haven’t been away once. I thought it would be nice to get away somewhere, just you and me.”

“Perfect,” Draco says and, realising he isn’t going to win against Nigel, he tips his head forward instead. Nigel slides straight over Draco’s head and thumps to the carpet, where he curls into a ball and glares at Draco balefully. “Where would you like to go? Venice? Rome? Paris?”

Harry picks Nigel up, hissing softly to sooth the ruffled snake. “It’s okay, he understands you’re playing, but try and be a bit more gentle. And I was hoping you’d consider America.”

“America?”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly, “Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia took Dudley once. They went to the beach, to Disneyland... They left me with Mrs Figg, and when they came back it was all Dudley talked about for months. I’ve wanted to go ever since.”

Draco shuts his eyes and tries to control his breathing, as he always has to do whenever Harry mentions his ‘family’. That conversation, when Harry told him about his childhood, was one of the most shocking and jarring of Draco’s life. He was afraid, initially, that it would mean the end of his relationship with Harry; Harry showed affection physically and continually wanted physical reassurance, which was the complete opposite of what Draco was used to giving. Luckily they both managed to adapt, but Draco still feels like torturing and maiming someone when he thinks about how those muggles treated an innocent child.

“Of course we can go to America,” he says, and his heart flips as Harry’s face lights up, “Just let me know when you can get a transatlantic portkey and I’ll give my secretary the dates.”

Harry suddenly looks shy again. “I understand if you don’t want to, but I really want to fly.”

“Fly? As in fly the muggle way?”

Harry nods. “I always wanted to go on a plane when I was little, but I’ve never had the chance...”

“Of course we can fly,” Draco says, knowing he’s liable to either break something or start crying if he has to listen to any more stories from Harry’s dreadful past, “But I’ve no idea how we go about arranging that.”

“I’ll speak to Ron and Hermione – they’ve been abroad,” Harry says as he leans over to kiss Draco’s cheek, “And thank you.”

* * *

“Remind me again what it is we’re doing?” Draco asks as Harry steers him through a dense crowd of muggles.

“We need to get our photos done for our passports,” Harry says, quickly yanking Draco out of the way of a muggle youth on a strange plank with four wheels.

“I thought that’s what you’re going to get us from the Ministry?”

Harry shakes his head, pulling him into a shop called ‘Boots’. Why they are going to a shop selling boots to have their photos taken, Draco isn’t sure, but as always when it comes to muggle things, Harry knows best.

“The Ministry can provide us with muggle versions of our birth certificates, which we need to get the passports, but we need to get the photos done ourselves.”

Harry leads Draco down some aisles displaying products which are most definitely not boots, and stops in front of a small room with a curtain across the front. Harry pulls his glasses off and hands them to Draco as he steps into the room. He looks odd without them.

“Right, I’ll get mine done first, then I’ll take you through it.”

“How hard can it be?” Draco scoffs, pulling back the curtain to accompany Harry into the room. He gets a hand in the face for his trouble.

“Sorry, but you won’t exactly fit. I’ll just be few minutes. Please don’t hex any muggles.”

The curtain falls back and Draco huffs. He hears a cool, female voice talking to Harry, and he realises she must be the photographer. After a minute or so he gets bored – how long does it take to take a bloody photo? – and takes a few steps forward and starts scanning the items on the shelves. He hasn’t heard of most of them; what in the world is a concealer? Some sort of muggle invention to make oneself invisible? He shakes his head and picks up something that looks vaguely skin coloured. ‘Foundation’, the label says. Draco has no idea what this tiny pot could be the foundation of.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Draco wheels round, startled, and comes face to face with a young, female shop assistant who’s looking at him with her eyebrows raised. Don’t hex the muggle, he tells himself, and instead decides to try and blend in.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he says as he puts the pot back on the shelf and pretends to scan the other items around it, desperately hoping she’ll go away. No such luck.

“Are you looking for something for your wife?” the assistant asks.

Comprehension hits Draco full force as he realises what he’s looking at. He feels his face flush, but honestly, how was he supposed to have known he was looking at make-up? It’s not like either he or Harry has use of the stuff! He opens his mouth to tell the assistant that he doesn’t have a wife, that he’s not interested in buying make-up and can she _please_ piss off and leave him alone, but before he can so much as utter a sound he hears his name.

“Draco? Your turn.”

He feels his face turn ever redder as Harry steps up next to him, glancing between him and the muggle shop assistant in confusion. The shop assistant slaps a hand over her mouth, but Draco can hear her giggles anyway. Merlin, she probably thinks Draco was looking at buying make-up for _himself_!

“My apologies, sir,” she says, turning and heading off down the aisle. Draco reaches for his wand – how _dare_ she laugh at him – but Harry places a restraining hand on his arm.

“I don’t want to know,” he says, patting the pockets of Draco’s trench coat until he finds his glasses and slips them on, “Come on, now, let’s get yours done and go home.”

Draco casts The Death Glare at the retreating assistant but lets Harry shepherd him back to the photo room. When he pulls back the curtain, he realises the tiny space is more of a cupboard than a room; there’s a seat and nothing else. Where’s the woman with the camera? He glances back at Harry in confusion, but Harry just waves a hand towards the seat.

“Sit down on there – no, no, face the front, that’s right. Now, we need your head to be inside the circle on the screen, so twist the seat – no, the other way...”

Draco swears as he spins the seat, trying to get it low enough for Harry’s liking. Who knew having a photo taken could be such a hassle?

“Right,” Harry says, “I’ll help you get it set up, but I’ll have to leave when it takes the photo. So, you have to look straight ahead, mustn’t smile, you need to push your hair back so it’s not hanging in your eyes...”

“Merlin’s balls, this is more complicated than my potions NEWT!” Draco exclaims.

“Not really, they’re just very picky about how your photo can look,” Harry says soothingly, “Okay, so let’s practice. Give me a neutral expression.” Draco does so. “I said neutral, not ‘I want to disembowel you with a rusty spoon’!” Draco glares at him. “No, that won’t do either. I know, give me your best ‘you are so far beneath my class I’m not even going to acknowledge your presence’ expression. Yes, that one’s perfect. Here we go.”

Harry slips some money into a slot at the front of the photo cupboard and it comes to life with a whir. Draco sits back and lets Harry choose all the settings, and a short time later the female voice is telling him to look straight ahead.

“See you in a sec,” Harry says and pulls his upper body out of the cupboard. Determined to get this over and done with as quickly as possible, Draco gives the screen at the front a ‘you are so far beneath my class I’m not even going to acknowledge your presence’ look and holds it until he hears the click of the unseen camera. An image of his face appears on the screen, and he takes a moment to admire his physical perfection before calling Harry in and asking if it’s alright.

Harry sighs in relief. “Perfect,” he says, pressing the screen one last time, “Right, that’s you done.” They have to wait by the cupboard for a few minutes until it spits out a set of four identical photos of Draco; he’s pleased to see that he looks even better in the actual photo than he did on the screen. He sighs in relief and hurriedly follows Harry towards the exit. On the way, he sees the assistant who laughed at him gossiping with two others, and all three look at him and start giggling. Draco checks to make sure Harry isn’t looking, whips out his wand and casts a quick hex that will make her break wind every time she laughs for the next twenty-four hours. Even as he stows his wand, he hears the sound of laughter immediately followed by a loud fart and he smiles in satisfaction.

It’s alright. What Harry doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

* * *

Draco holds up the tiny red book incredulously. “This is _it_? This is the thing that’s so important they won’t let you out of the country without it?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “So, now we’ve got it, we just need to decide on dates.”

Draco waves a hand dismissively. “You choose; I’m completely flexible.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “That you are.”

Draco throws a cushion at him, then suddenly has a horrible thought. “We didn’t get a passport for Nigel!”

Harry gives him an odd look. “We can’t take Nigel on holiday with us, Draco.”

Draco pulls Nigel onto his lap and strokes his head. “But doesn’t he want to come to America too?”

“They wouldn’t let him on the plane,” Harry says, scooting closer, “Don’t worry, some of our friends will look after him. Charlie, perhaps. He works with dragons; he won’t be fazed by a snake, that’s for sure.”

Draco sniffs exaggeratedly and kisses Nigel’s head. “Poor Nigel. I’ll miss you so much.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You know, I’m starting to think you love Nigel more than you love me.”

Draco grins and moves Nigel to the sunny patch on the armchair, knowing he’ll be perfectly content there for hours. “I love Nigel, but you’re just a little bit special, Harry.”

And Draco pulls Harry to his feet, steers him into the bedroom and spends three hours showing him just how special he is.


	13. Disney

**Chapter 13. Disney**

“But I want to go to the one with the castle!” Draco exclaims in dismay.

Harry rolls his eyes, grips the sleeve of Draco’s T-shirt – yes, T-shirt, as Harry refused to pack his favourite muggle trench coat – and pulls him along. “We’ve got two days here, one day for each park. We can go to the one with the castle tomorrow.”

Draco supposes that’s fair enough, and dutifully follows Harry into the Disney California Adventure Park. There are far too many people for Draco’s liking, and he sticks close to Harry as they are shepherded along a concrete footpath. Draco doesn’t see what’s so special about this place at all.

Then they round the corner, and his mouth drops open in astonishment. There are street vendors and majestic buildings and towering structures he wouldn’t have believed it would be possible to make without magic. He doesn’t realise he’s stopped walking until someone bumps into him from behind and swears colourfully at him. Draco hurries to catch up with Harry, who’s turning a map over in his hands.

“We must be here,” he says, pointing at the bottom, “And apparently all the best rides are in Paradise Pier.” He points at the top, and beckons Draco down a street to their right.

“What’s a ride?” Draco asks, “Do you mean riding a horse?”

Harry bursts out laughing. “No, Draco, but don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

* * *

An hour later, Draco is still standing in same queue he joined nearly half an hour ago. He most definitely does not love this. He’s too hot, he’s surrounded by smelly, sweaty people, he desperately needs a drink of water, and he can hear people screaming. In his experience, people don’t usually scream when they love something.

On the other hand, Harry is practically bouncing with excitement. “I’ve never ridden a rollercoaster before,” he keeps telling Draco. At the rate this queue is moving, Draco wonders if he ever will.

Finally, after what seems like forever, they reach the front of the queue. As soon as the ride assistant beckons them forward, Harry darts for the furthest gate.

“We get the front,” he says in amazement. Draco rolls his eyes; all the gates look exactly the same to him. A sleek train with no roof pulls up in front of them and the people in it push something up over the heads and get out of the other side. Harry instantly leaps forward and sits down.

“Come on!” he says, beckoning Draco forward. Draco eyes the train with disdain. It’s filthy and loud, and surely he and Harry could have walked to wherever this is going to take them in less time than it has taken them to queue. Still, it’s here now, so he bites his tongue and sits down next to Harry, who reaches up and pulls the bar down over Draco’s head. He instantly hates it; it’s pressing against his chest uncomfortably, and he can’t put his hands in his lap. Instead, he has to reach up and grip the handles on the side of the bar.

“This is stupid,” he says, but Harry doesn’t have time to reply before the train starts moving. Music suddenly starts playing from somewhere and Draco tries to twist his head to see where it’s coming from, but the harness holds him still. They round a corner, the train track taking them out over a lake, and then they pull to a stop. He tries to ignore Harry, who’s vibrating in anticipation next to him, and cocks his head as a male voice starts speaking over the music.

“Five, four, three, two...”

“This is boring, Harry,” Draco declares.

And the next moment, he screams as the train shoots forward. He’s pressed back into his seat by the speed, which is greater than anything he’s ever experienced in his life. They race up a hill and then it’s like he’s flying as the train dips and swoops and wheels round bends faster than Draco would ever be able to manage on a broom. He hears other people screaming and hollering behind him, and he suddenly realises that, just like flying, this isn’t about getting from one point to another; it’s all about having fun. And with that understanding, he throws up his arms and yells his delight along with everyone else.

The train slows and Draco sighs, thinking it’s over, but then it crests the hill and starts falling and he’s flying once more. The track dips into a dive and then it curves up and up and up until Draco’s completely upside-down, before he completes the loop and rides out the last few bumps until the rollercoaster stops. He knows his hair is all over the place and he can feel the undignified flush on his cheeks, but he doesn’t give a damn. That was absolutely _amazing_.

“Again, Harry,” Draco says breathlessly as he pushes the bar up over his head, “Again again again!”

Harry’s hair is even more of a mess than Draco’s but his face is alight with the same glow Draco can feel on his own. “That was brilliant,” he breathes. Suddenly, Draco’s glad that Harry’s muggle relatives never took him away with them, because if they had, Harry would have done all this before and he might not be looking at Draco the way he is now. Draco smiles and kisses Harry’s nose.

“Come on, let’s get back in the queue,” he says.

Harry grins. “Race you there!”

“You’re on, Potter.”

* * *

Draco has such an amazing time riding the rollercoasters there’s a large part of him that wants to go back to the California Adventure and forget the other park with the castle, but Harry assures him there will be rollercoasters in the other park too, which cheers Draco up considerably. True enough, Draco gets to ride his fair share of rollercoasters (there’s even one in a boat!) and also deigns to accompany Harry on some of the more children-friendly rides. He expects them to be boring, but as he supports a very green-looking Harry off the giant twirling teacups he quickly revises that opinion.

“Maybe we should do something a little more sedate for a while,” Draco says as Harry sits down and puts his head between his knees.

“Sounds good,” he says weakly.

Draco and Harry meander back towards the large pink castle at the centre of the park, and are almost there when Draco overhears two little girls talking to each other. “Harry,” he whispers, pulling Harry’s sleeve, “Harry, there are princesses here!”

Harry gives him an odd look. “Of course there are. The Disney princesses, right?”

Draco quickly checks the map and pulls Harry off to the left. “We can’t come here and not meet royalty! Come on!” Harry’s smiling but Draco doesn’t know why. He can’t believe he didn’t realise that this Disney Park was the home of royalty; why else would there be such a magnificent castle? He leads Harry into the middle of a small village square, and his eyes widen as he sees several young women each dressed in a beautiful gown. They’re so humble, he thinks, coming out here to socialise with the commoners. He straightens his back and joins the back of a queue of little girls clutching small books and pens.

Harry, for some reason, is in hysterics, their disposable camera clutched tightly in his hand. Draco has no idea why; perhaps he’s just nervous at the idea of meeting royalty. The queue inches forward, and eventually Draco and Harry are at the front. The princess, her dress a rich gold and her dark hair pinned up at the back of her head, looks at them in surprise.

“Hello,” she says, sounding unsure.

Draco steps forward, bows at the waist and kisses the back of the princess’ hand. “Good afternoon, your royal highness. It is an honour to meet you.”

She still looks nervous, but she smiles at him. “And you. Your accent – you’re British?”

Draco beams. “Yes, your highness. My partner and I are on holiday here in your lovely country of America.” He gestures at Harry, who shares an amused look with the princess. Draco narrows his eyes. Princess or not, he won’t let her move in on Harry.

“So, would you like a photo?” the princess asks, and Draco eagerly poses next to her whilst Harry takes their photo. “I hope you live happily ever after,” she says as she waves goodbye. Draco kisses her hand once more and then he and Harry leave so the rest of the queue can shuffle forward.

“You didn’t introduce yourself, Harry!” Draco admonishes him, “How rude!”

Harry chuckles. “How remiss of me.”

Draco shakes his head. “You didn’t get a photo, either. Look, let’s join one of the other queues and I can take your photo this time. Or perhaps we could pass the camera to someone else and let them take a photo of all three of us.”

Harry smiles at him fondly. “Sounds good.”

* * *

“What did the first princess mean?” Draco asks as they leave the village square, “When she told us to live happily ever after?”

“It’s a muggle saying,” Harry says, “And it means exactly what it sounds like. She was saying she hopes we’ll have a long and happy life together.”

“Oh, that was nice of her,” Draco says, “So, which rollercoaster are we going to next?”

Harry rolls his eyes but obediently pulls out the map.

* * *

Draco spends the rest of the day eating candyfloss and popcorn and a variety of other things, all of which are absolutely terrible for his teeth, but he doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t care that he’s looking around the place with the same wonder as the children a third of his age. He doesn’t care about the looks he and Harry get when they casually link hands as they stroll down the main street. He doesn’t think he can remember a time when he was as happy as he is now.

They buy a stuffed Mickey Mouse as a present for Nigel, a hat with mouse ears on it as a thank-you present for Dragon Weasley, and matching Disney T-shirts which they both instantly pull on over the T-shirts they’re currently wearing. Draco also buys a miniature replica of the Princess’ castle for his mother, a pair of Mickey Mouse cufflinks for his father and a Disney watch for himself. Harry rolls his eyes at how much Draco’s spending – the crystal-encrusted castle is the most expensive item in the shop – but he just smiles and helps Draco carry the bags when he’s finished shopping.

They stay until late in the evening, commandeering a bench and sitting down to watch the fireworks. Draco sighs and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Do we have to leave?” he murmurs.

Harry tilts his head to nuzzle Draco’s hair. “We’re going to the beach. You’ll like that just as much, I promise.”

Draco hmms in satisfaction and slips his arm around Harry’s waist. He shifts so he’s more comfortable, and the pair of them sit in easy silence while the streamers of light dance and play in the night sky.


	14. Pizza

**Chapter 14. Pizza**

Draco gathers up his and Harry’s things and shoves them haphazardly into their beach bag. There’s plenty of room thanks to the undetectable extension charm, and he zips up the top and swings it over his shoulder. Harry stretches, his shoulders popping.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

Draco nods, and the pair head back up the beach to their hotel. The skin on Harry’s back is slightly red, and Draco makes a mental note to rub some lotion on it before they go to bed. They’ve been at the beach for two days, and Draco has to admit that after the excitement of Disney it’s been glorious just to relax on the beach without a care in the world. Other than remembering to apply sun cream, of course.

Draco showers first, as always. It makes more sense that way, given that Harry can have his shower and get dressed in the time it takes for Draco to select his outfit and apply his various grooming charms. He slips his sandals on just as Harry’s gathering together everything they’ll need for the evening.

“Any ideas where you want to eat?” Draco asks.

Harry’s brow draws down as he thinks. “We haven’t had a pizza yet. We can’t come to America and not have pizza.”

“What’s pizza?” Draco asks.

“You’ve never had a pizza?” Harry asks incredulously, “How is that possible? It’s like a plate of doughy, gooey, cheesy deliciousness.”

“It sounds terribly healthy,” Draco says.

Harry throws a pillow at him. “Okay, so it’s probably our entire day’s worth of calories in one meal. So what? We’re on holiday, aren’t we? Let’s indulge.”

And as he always does when it comes to Harry, Draco gives in. They get a recommendation and directions from the hotel receptionist and before long Harry’s opening the door to a restaurant with a rustic, traditional-looking interior. Draco nods in approval and lets a young waiter lead them to a small booth. He hands them menus, and as he turns to leave Draco can’t help but notice that the young man has a particularly nice arse.

“Oi, stop ogling,” Harry says, nudging Draco with his knee under the table.

Draco raises his menu to hide his blush. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Harry snorts. “So, what do you think I’ll like?”

“Everyone likes pizza,” Harry says, “And if you don’t fancy any of the set ones off the menu there’s a ‘create your own’ option where you can choose what you want, see?”

Draco scans the menu but nothing jumps out at him. He’s still trying to make up his mind when the waiter returns, clutching his little pad eagerly.

“So, what can I get you guys?” he asks, and Draco thinks he could just melt in that accent.

“Medium meat feast and a lemonade, please,” Harry says.

The waiter dutifully notes it down. “And for you, sir?” he asks, turning to Draco.

Draco shuts his menu. “I’ll create my own,” he says, “And I’ll have caviar, king prawns, sea bass and smoked salmon with a dash of white wine.”

The waiter stares at him as if he’s grown an extra head. Harry groans and rubs his temples. “I don’t think they’ll do that, Draco.”

“Why not?” he asks, confused, “You told me I could choose what I want...”

“Yes, from the options listed in the menu!” Harry sighs, “Honestly, _caviar_? It’s a bloody pizza, not a posh fish pie!”

Draco sighs, recognising from Harry’s expression that he’s not going to win, and waves his hand across the table. “I’ll have what he’s having, then.”

The waiter can’t scurry away fast enough. Harry laughs softly.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asks, and Draco contemplates an answer for about ten seconds before realising Harry doesn’t expect one. Instead, he’s pulled out the half a dozen pieces of card he bought at Disney and slides two of them across to Draco with a pen. “Here, you can write these while we’re waiting. I told you about postcards, remember? Just write in this white space and I’ll sort out stamps and addresses tomorrow. I’ll do these ones for the Weasleys.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, Draco does remember Harry telling him about this tradition. He said that this is something muggles do all the time, writing messages to people at home to let them know what a good time they’re having. Draco thinks it’s a bit rude, rubbing the fact that you’re having a wonderful time on holiday in your friends’ faces, but Harry says it’s something he has to do, so he obediently uncaps the pen.

“Pass them across when you’re done and I’ll sign them too,” Harry says, and Draco nods and begins to write.

* * *

_Hello Mother and Father_

_I’m not sure whether or not this will reach you, as I don’t think the muggle postman has ever been to the manor before, but Harry says I can't come on holiday and not write a postcard, so here you go. The weather here in California is sublime. I'm actually tanning, if you can believe it. Earlier this week Harry and I spent a couple of days at Disneyland. There was a stunning castle (you'd have loved it, Mother, it was pink!) and Harry and I met lots of muggle princesses. They all live in the castle together, I think. One of them had her eye on Harry, but of course I wasn't going to stand for that. We'll show you the photos when we get back._

_We’re now sat in a muggle restaurant about to sample pizza. Harry says it’s delicious (although he’s just told me off for asking for caviar on mine), and apparently you can get them in England, so perhaps when we return we’ll have to go out for lunch and you can try one too. See you soon, love always,_

_Draco_ **and Harry**

* * *

_Hello Nigel_

_I hope you’re well and Dragon Weasley is looking after you. If not, feel free to strangle him in his sleep – I won’t hold it against you. I don’t think you’d like America; it’s a little too hot for you, and there isn’t enough shade. On the other hand, they do have extra large mice, as you can see on the front of this postcard, which I think you might enjoy a bit more. Next time we go on holiday, I’ll make sure we go somewhere you can come too._

_Harry says by the time this postcard gets to England it will almost be time for us to come home, so I will see you very soon. Miss you lots, love always,_

_Draco xxxxx_ **and Harry**

* * *

When the pizzas come, Draco can’t help but stare. It’s so large he doubts the whole thing will fit in his stomach, and the presentation is a bit lacking – couldn’t they have made it in the shape of something a bit more imaginative than a circle? – but it smells absolutely divine.

“Impressed?” Harry asks mischievously.

“I haven’t tasted it yet,” Draco says, then gasps in horror Harry picks up a piece with his fingers, “What on earth are you doing?”

“This is how you eat pizza,” Harry says, “With fingers. Just like at the picnic.”

“That was just the two of us in the middle of the park. Harry, we are in a _restaurant_. They have provided cutlery and you are being _entirely_ uncivilised,” Draco snaps.

“If you want to eat with cutlery, you eat with the cutlery,” Harry says, and he proceeds to take a huge mouthful of his pizza. Draco stares in dismay as Harry smears tomato sauce, cheese and pepperoni juice all over his chin.

“You uncultured swine,” Draco sniffs, picking up his knife and fork and slicing a section off of the pizza.

“Posh toff,” Harry counters.

“You know, your insults might be more effective if I understood what they meant,” Draco says as he puts the piece of pizza into his mouth. His eyes close unconsciously as he chews. He can’t deny that this stuff is delicious – in a completely unrefined and rudimentary sort of way – but he rethinks the decision to take his parents to a pizza restaurant for lunch. He doesn’t think this sort of thing will be up to their standards, although the mental image of his father attempting to eat something with his fingers is highly amusing.

Against all his expectations he finishes the entire pizza easily. He sets his knife and fork down on his plate and delicately cleans his lips with the napkin. Harry, who took bites twice as large as Draco’s and so finished ages ago, grins at him.

“Well done, and thanks for giving it a chance.”

Draco is about to say that he’ll give anything a chance for Harry, but wisely clamps his mouth shut before it gets him into trouble. “It’s okay. Would you like a dessert?”

Harry groans and pats his stomach. “I’d better not; I’ve probably put on half a stone just from that pizza alone. I’ll have to do some exercise when we get back to the hotel.”

Draco frowns in distaste. “Exercise? On holiday?”

Harry nods. “I was hoping we could exercise together.” Draco’s about to tell him where he can put that idea, but then Harry grins lasciviously. “You know, the in-bed kind of exercise? I’ve got plenty of calories to burn, so we might be at it for a while...”

Draco groans, and sticks his hand up for the waiter. The bill can't come fast enough.


	15. Ring

**Chapter 15. Ring**

Draco digs his toes into the warm sand and tilts his head to catch the last of the sun’s rays. Harry walks beside him, their hands comfortably entwined as they stroll down the beach. Draco can’t believe it’s their last night in America; tomorrow, they fly back to England, and whilst Draco is looking forward to seeing Nigel again, he also wishes this holiday would never end. Out here, he’s not Draco Malfoy, infamous Death Eater, and his boyfriend isn’t Harry Potter, the boy who lived. No, out here, they’re just Harry and Draco, and Draco decides he rather likes it that way.

A couple jogs leisurely past them and Harry pulls Draco to a stop, spinning so his back is against Draco’s chest. Draco rests his head on top of Harry’s and they stare off into the sunset, which is starting to bleed red as the sun hits the horizon. Draco sighs deeply.

“I love you, Harry,” he murmurs.

Harry doesn’t say it back.

Draco frowns and shifts round to see Harry’s face. Harry’s worrying his lower lip with his teeth and fidgeting. Draco brushes Harry’s cheek gently with his thumb.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry’s eyes – nervous, anxious – meet Draco’s, and suddenly it feels as if the world has dropped away from underneath his feet. Harry’s breaking up with him. What else could it be? Draco drops his hand and takes half a step back, but he can’t make himself move any further. He fights the urge to be sick. No, Harry, no. Please, no.

Harry takes a deep breath and gets down on one knee.

Draco looks down at him in confusion. Does he think kneeling down to deliver the bad news will make it hurt any less? Against his will he feels tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back hurriedly. He won’t cry, he tells himself. He won’t.

Harry licks his lips. “Draco,” he says, “I love you.”

Oh, Draco thinks. That doesn’t sound like the first line from someone who wants to split up.

Harry digs one hand into his pocket as he looks up at Draco beseechingly. “I’ve never been happier than when I’m around you. You make me smile and you make me laugh, and the best bit is that most of the time you’re not even trying to. When I’m with you, it feels like there’s nothing I can’t do. You make me feel complete. Draco...”

His voice chokes off and he pulls out a small box from his pocket, which he opens and offers to Draco. Draco steps forward to get a better look. Inside is a gorgeous ring, a plain gold band studded with delicate emeralds. Draco smiles with relief. Harry’s not breaking up with him; he’s just giving Draco a present. Why Harry looks to be on the verge of passing out, Draco doesn’t know. Maybe it’s just because he’s not used to giving expensive presents, and he’s worried he’s bought Draco the wrong thing. Draco smiles at Harry reassuringly and takes the ring, trying to slip it onto his middle finger. It’s a little small, but it fits perfectly on his next finger.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” Draco says, and then he realises that people are clapping. There’s a couple with a dog stood a few metres away, half a dozen teenagers that have just got out of the sea, and the joggers they passed a few minutes ago who must have turned round and headed home. All of them are clapping, some are whistling and hooting, and Draco has no idea why. He glances down at Harry to see if he knows, but Harry is looking up at Draco with an expression of shocked horror on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asks, worried.

Harry’s mouth works fruitlessly for a few moments. “You’ve got no idea what just happened, have you?”

Draco frowns. “Er, you gave me a present?” he asks tentatively, then winces when Harry pales, “I’m sorry. Have I done something wrong? I really do like it.”

Harry groans and pushes himself to his feet. He brushes sand off his knees and waves to the clapping people, who start to disperse. Draco looks about in confusion.

“Did you know them?”

“No.”

“Then why did they stop and clap?”

Harry rubs his temples. “Because they think we just got engaged.”

“Engaged?”

“To be married.”

And for the second time in five minutes, Draco can’t breathe. “Married?” he croaks.

Harry nods and shrugs sheepishly. “I suppose I should have checked that wizards and muggles proposed the same way. The thought that they wouldn’t never crossed my mind.”

Draco gapes and stares at the ring that he’s just slipped onto his hand. “You just proposed to me?”

Harry smiles sadly. “Yes. And you had no idea what I was doing.”

He wraps his arms around himself and turns away, towards the sea. Draco looks down at his hand, at the ring, the ring that means Harry wants to marry him. This time, he doesn’t try to stop the tears from falling. The emotions welling up inside him are like nothing he’s ever felt, so strong, so overpowering, and all of them centred on Harry. Harry, the man Draco loves, the man he wants to stay with for the rest of his life. He chokes out a laugh, steps forward and gathers Harry up into his arms.

“Yes,” Draco whispers into Harry’s ear, “Yes, I would love to marry you.”

And then Harry starts crying, and the rest of the world fades away into nothingness as Draco finds Harry’s lips and pulls him down into the golden sand.

* * *

Later, they lie comfortably on the beach, Draco on his back and Harry curled up on his side with his head on Draco’s chest. Draco cards his fingers through Harry’s soft hair. The sun’s gone, and they’re completely alone except for the sound of the waves.

“Did you choose this yourself?” Draco asks, rubbing his ring with his thumb.

Harry nods. “Yeah. Are you sure you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” Draco says, “But where’s yours?”

“I didn’t buy one for myself,” Harry says, grinning in amusement, “It wasn’t me I was proposing to.”

Draco hums. “As soon as we get home I’m going to buy you one, so everyone will know you’re mine.”

“Fine with me,” Harry sighs.

Draco closes his eyes. The moment is so calm, so tranquil, so perfect, that he doesn’t want to spoil it, but it’s unfair to Harry to wait any longer. Draco wishes he didn’t have to be the voice of reason, but Harry obviously doesn’t know much about this, and it will be better to get it over and done with sooner rather than later. He takes a deep breath.

“Harry?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“We can’t get married.”

Harry rolls over so fast he accidentally elbows Draco in the gut. “What?” he whispers, his face going white.

Draco brushes Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “It’s not recognised,” he chokes out, “Marriage between two women or two men, that is. We can commit ourselves to each other, but it won’t have any legal standing.”

Harry laughs. Draco stares at him incredulously. Did Harry not just hear him? Harry grins and brushes Draco’s hair back from his forehead.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he whispers.

“It’s true,” Draco says.

“In the wizarding world, perhaps,” Harry says, “But not in the muggle.”

Draco stares at him, feeling hope rekindle in his chest. “We can be married in the muggle world? Properly, officially married?”

“Not in England,” Harry says, “They do civil partnerships, which is supposed to be equivalent but it’s not technically a marriage. Elsewhere in the world, though, we could get married. Massachusetts, the Netherlands, Belgium, Canada...”

“I like the idea of Canada,” Draco whispers, “Do they have roller coasters there?”

“I’m sure they do,” Harry laughs, “Canada it is then. We’ll start looking into how to apply for a licence as soon as we get home.”

“The sooner the better,” Draco says, standing up and holding his hand out to Harry.

“You do know that it doesn’t matter what time we get to the airport – the plane won’t leave any sooner,” Harry chuckles.

Draco rolls his eyes and kisses Harry softly. He can barely believe this is possible. He can legally marry the man of his dreams, the man he wants to spend every morning waking up next to and every night falling asleep with, the man he loves more than life itself. He’s never even considered the possibility himself, knowing it couldn’t happen in the wizarding world, and the joy he feels at knowing there is a way that they can be a proper family is overwhelming. He and Harry (and Nigel, of course), together forever. He likes the sound of that.

“What are you thinking?” Harry murmurs.

“I bloody love muggles,” Draco says.

Harry smiles, takes Draco’s hand and leads him off into their happily ever after.


End file.
